


Ghosts

by Jaye_Voy



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Adult Content, Angst, Explicit Language, F/M, M/M, Sexual Content, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-04 05:06:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 43,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6642457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaye_Voy/pseuds/Jaye_Voy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>McCoy's life is changed when he witnesses an encounter between Jim and Spock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There's no Joanna in this world. McCoy's marriage was childless.  
> M'Benga's name is Jabilo in this story. Jocelyn's last name is Benoit.  
> Originally written in 2010. Although there are some tweaks, the story's contents (and its flaws) are mostly intact.  
> Vulcan dialogue is based on the guide at https://webspace.utexas.edu/bighamds/LIN312/Files/Vulcan-intro.pdf and the dictionary at http://www.starbase-10.de/vld/.  
> Star Trek and all related characters and concepts are the property of Paramount et al. A few of the signature lines of the series and movies are paraphrased. No infringement is intended or profit made. This is rated R for adult themes, implied sex, violence, and language.

McCoy stared at the scroll on his desk. The papyrus was the color of bone, turned golden in the circle cast by his lamp. It rustled when he ran a fingertip along the edge, still stiff with newness. He'd anchored the corners with a padd, a mug (clean and empty, thank you; he wasn't starting this shit all over again because of coffee rings), a trilobite fossil he'd picked up on a weekend dig back in high school, and an early edition of _Gray's Anatomy_.

The jet-black letters forming precise rows and columns on the sheet were all unrelenting lines and sharp angles. Vulcan. He could sort of understand it---he sure as hell _hoped_ he'd gotten the gist after all the time he'd spent hand-copying the padd Uhura'd given him.

'Course he'd still had her read it when he was finally done. Just his luck he'd write "shit" instead of "lip" and turn the ancient poem into a dirty limerick.

He'd searched high and low for an anniversary gift for Spock. He didn't know if the hobgoblin even celebrated anniversaries---Spock sure as hell _hated_ the surprise party Jim had organized for Spock's last birthday.

But McCoy figured the year since their first date deserved something. Even if only because they hadn't killed each other. McCoy knew for a fact nobody in the betting pool had guessed the two of them would last this long. (Scotty'd slipped McCoy the winnings---minus a modest processing fee, of course---just a few weeks ago.)

And sure, they had their moments---with shouting (McCoy) and exaggerated sighs (Spock) and raised eyebrows (both of 'em)---but overall, things were good. McCoy was...happy.

He snorted to himself every time he thought it. Who'd've guessed it? McCoy had waited a solid month after Uhura and Spock broke it off. Waiting to see if either one of them would make noises about getting back together. Then another month to make sure Spock had done whatever meditation-logic-Vulcan voodoo he'd needed to sort of clear his system.

Even then, McCoy expected to be shot down when he asked Spock out. He couldn't have explained why he did it---or when Spock became so damned important to him. Or how Spock and him just clicked somehow, like a dislocated shoulder sliding back into the socket. 

McCoy just walked up one day and _did_ it. Because Spock _was_ that important. And they just _clicked_.

So when McCoy had stumbled over some reference to pre-Surak Vulcan odes, he'd bribed Chekov to find them and Uhura to translate them. After he'd found the perfect one, he'd traded some damned good liquor to Scotty and Keenser to scrounge up the materials McCoy needed to copy it himself.

And now here it was.

McCoy ran his finger along the edge again, the translation sounding in his head as he read the opening verse:

_I stand before the sun_  
_My arms raised in welcome_  
_My feet firm in the shifting sands_  
_In the stinging winds_

_Like the sun I burn_  
_Like the sand I burn_  
_For you I burn_  
_As you light passion's fire within me_

=======

Three days until they reached Earth for refits and personnel swaps. McCoy shifted in his office chair, tried to read the next paragraph on the padd. For the sixth time. Truth was, McCoy felt like a hound dog straining on the end of a leash. He could scent the rabbit and was rarin' to go.

Not just to get his feet back on solid goddamned _dirt_ and breathe unrecycled air and have an honest-to-goodness-completely-nonsynthesized meal.

Spock was coming with him to Georgia. For their anniversary. (Although he still wasn't sure Spock would acknowledge it. Of course Spock _knew_ about it---Mister Mind Like a Memory Chip could likely quote the number of seconds they'd been together.)

He was going to meet McCoy's family---what there was of it, cousins and a few aunts and uncles left now. But it seemed right, that Spock would be with him when he went home.

Although really, _Spock_ seemed like home now. Their lives woven together like two of Sulu's vines. They woke up in the same cabin most mornings...had coffee and tea (and sex) before heading out for the day. Ate breakfast with Jim.

Crossed paths in the labs or on the bridge. At some point picked up their "discussion" from the evening before, or started on a new topic. Usually over lunch---sometimes during dinner, too, if Jim didn't join them.

But it was the evenings McCoy enjoyed most. The time that was Spock and him together. Even if they started out doing different things---Spock meditating, McCoy catching up on his reading or reports---at some point they'd both end up on the couch. Shoulders touching, hands twined together or sliding against each other in Vulcan kisses.

Sometimes they just sat in the quiet that wrapped around them like his grandma's quilt. Or they'd talk...about the day, the ship, their friends. Or share memories...growing up, who they'd been and who they were now.

Minutes, hours... Most times it'd lead to more. Human kisses and Vulcan ones, hot skin sliding under McCoy's hands, Spock in him or around him. Moans and half-words and the build and the moment and the after, when they just breathed together.

But sometimes it was just them getting ready for bed and settling naked under the standard-issue sheets to wrap around each other and slide into sleep.

That was home...Spock's warmth against his back or in his arms, Spock's too-fast heart beating in the wrong place. Spock's scent, smooth skin, and prickly hair. Spock so still and quiet as he slipped into dreams.

It was the "Fire Dance" poem. Spock was the sex and the sizzle, yeah, but also the hearthfire and the two of them spooning together while Enterprise glided her way through a universe that wasn't so cold and lonely and airless-scary now.

Because Spock kept him warm.

And most days McCoy figured Spock knew how he felt. Even if McCoy hadn't---they hadn't---quite got the words out yet.

He'd learned Spock, the not-quite body language and the almost expressions and the barely-there changes in tone. The way Spock got just a hint of crows' feet when he wasn't going to smile. How those big brown eyes would glance away and a corner of Spock's mouth would lift a fraction when McCoy would let slip a "Darlin' " or something else embarrassing instead of his usual "green-blooded fill-in-the-blank".

So McCoy gave what he could---the snark and the sex and the quiet time together---and one night in Georgia he'd give Spock the scroll and say the words.

Because Vulcans were all about the truth, and the truth was, McCoy loved Spock.

McCoy shoved out of his office chair. Hell, if he was just gonna moon over Spock like a teenage girl he could do it at Jim and Spock's chess match.

=======

McCoy stopped by his cabin first for a bottle of the "good stuff". If the game was going as McCoy expected, Jim would need it---maybe McCoy, too, if Spock had mentioned Georgia.

He'd have to make sure Jim understood they weren't just gonna up and disappear on him for the whole layover. Jim could come down for the barbecue/reunion/gabfest that was likely to spring up after McCoy'd introduced Spock around. There was sure to be a cousin or three who would lap up Starfleet's golden boy like the first dip of ice cream at a summer picnic.

Just... _after_ the anniversary. Because that was just gonna be Spock and McCoy on a porch swing. With the sun slanting low and the air filled with the chirp of crickets and the scent of honeysuckle.

McCoy shook his head as he stepped into the corridor. He'd also have to make sure somebody would be keeping an eye on their wayward captain while McCoy and Spock were away. Lord knew McCoy put in enough time at it---practically since the day they'd met.

Back in that first semester at the Academy, seemed like McCoy couldn't turn around without tripping over Jim. McCoy would be trying to study in his barely-bigger-than-his-bunk-but-thank-God-all-to-himself single dorm room when there'd be a knock at the door. Jim, wheedling and cajoling and sometimes straight dragging McCoy to some off-campus dive. Where McCoy would park himself at the bar as Jim's wingman. Basically keeping Jim's ass out of the brig---or the morgue---if things got out of hand.

And hadn't _that_ been a full-time job for a while. Eventually Jim had settled down some, but there'd still been nights when McCoy would get a comm at 3am. He always answered it.

Hell, he didn't know how or why or when it happened, but at some point Jim had morphed from a gigantic pain in the ass to a pain in the ass who was McCoy's kid brother in everything but blood.

He smirked at Jim's jokes and listened to his tales of pranks and conquests. Sat beside him a few times a day---and sometimes long into the night---for conversations that looped around hidden, painful things in the past and sometimes warped into laughter that was always better than tears.

Yeah, Jim was like the brother he'd never had. Somebody he looked out for and put up with.

And sometimes Jim Kirk was a hell of a lot to put up with. Especially when he went prancing about some planet he didn't have any business being on and damn near got his fool head blown off. Likely bringing along Spock and/or McCoy for the fun in case the natives needed more target practice.

McCoy snorted. Still, he'd stuck by Jim. Went and snarked with him on the bridge most days, nagged him about his weight and the fact that apple turnovers and fries were only in the barest sense still fruits and vegetables. Played cards with Scotty and the bridge crew a couple times a week, or Spock and Jim and him would just sit around and shoot the shit while Spock drank tea and McCoy tried to remind Jim of the difference between sip and gulp when it came to good whiskey.

And when McCoy was working late, Jim and Spock played chess.

But since no work was getting done, he figured he'd knock off early. Crash the game and offer some commentary while Spock beat the pants off Jim and Jim swore he'd get even next week.

He was grinning as he punched in his code and breezed through Jim's door.


	2. Chapter 2

McCoy was halfway through Jim's dimly lit cabin before anything registered.

The smell hit him first---sweat and musk. He jerked to a stop, eyes now darting around the room. If Jim had picked up a partner for the night, Spock would've let McCoy know not to interrupt...

A few chess pieces lay on the floor; others scattered haphazardly over the board. A mug and shotglass sat on the table, precisely where they should be. The chairs were flung on their sides at least two steps away.

Moans and whispers and the slick sound of flesh sliding together drew McCoy toward the gap in the lattice marking the bedroom. Even with the lights down he knew their faces: Spock's head dipped toward his chest, Jim's flung back, mouth open and face slick with sweat.

Their eyes were closed.

McCoy blinked. Drew in a breath, but couldn't get it out past the lump he couldn't swallow, past the gaping hole that seemed to rip through his chest and down deep into his guts.

Somehow he was moving, backing straight up and out the door. It closed in front of him but he couldn't see it. Just a gray wavy blur as salt stung his eyes and dripped hot streaks on his skin in the cool Enterprise air.

The bottle was still clutched so tight he didn't know why the neck didn't crack or shatter in his fingers. He pressed his fist to his chest, braced his free hand on the wall.

The breath finally choked out with a sound somewhere between a grunt and a sob. The next one felt like a knife sliding in to slice through everything...everything he thought was, everything he'd hoped would be.

Nobody came rushing through the door after him. They must not've even noticed the interruption. Too busy with...

Another breath. Another sound like some animal ready to crawl off and die. It wasn't getting any easier.

McCoy lurched around, weaved across the corridor to the other wall so he could lean against it as he stumbled away. But the thoughts followed him, his own voice in his head asking over and over _How could he do that? Didn't he know? How could he do that?_ without ever thinking who "he" was because it was both of them and they were in there together and McCoy was out here alone, so alone and so cold he could feel the warmth draining away like blood and all he wanted now was someplace to curl up and just close his eyes and let it all be dark inside outside so he wouldn't have to see them in his head and _know_ \---know what he was and what he wasn't and maybe what he'd never been because _How could he do that?_ and if he---if he---if _Spock_ and _Jim_ could do that then...

McCoy made himself move faster. He couldn't be here just couldn't just couldn't because this couldn't be home Enterprise couldn't be home anymore and McCoy needed to be _gone_ and _away_ somewhere that was warm that was dark that would let him just _be_ and not think not know---

His hand slapped the button for the chime and even as the door opened he was falling...

=======

_How could he do that? Didn't he know? How could he do that?_

McCoy thought he might have...gone away...for a little bit. He definitely did not remember sitting on a couch and bending so far forward he could practically lick the carpet between his boots.

But he _was_ on a couch and the carpet _was_ that close. And he was...back, whatever. The voice in his head was still jabbering away on autorepeat, but now it sounded like an echo in the hollow chamber where his life used to be.

He didn't blame Uhura for holding his head down with a firm hand on the back of his neck. McCoy could catalog the symptoms of shock: clammy skin, disorientation, chill, et cetera, et cetera...

But he didn't particularly care. Déjà vu had rolled in like fog, cloaked everything and turned thoughts into vague shapes just out of reach. He could focus, now. Not so much on what he saw or what he knew---his whole self shied away from that with a lurch of his guts that had him calculating the distance to the toilet---but on why he was here and what he needed to do.

"I'm fine," he muttered. A bold-faced lie, of course---fuck knew when or if he'd ever be _fine_ , but he sure as hell didn't want Uhura calling Chapel or M'Benga in Sickbay.

Or anyone else. "I'm fine," he repeated and bucked a little against her grip.

All Uhura did was snort. She moved away, though, so he sat up. Slumped against the back of the couch, closed his eyes and told his insides to settle.

He knew that under the fog there was a great black pit in him. Edges were crumbling like a cliff in drought, all loose shale and sharp-edged pieces skittering. It was taking every bit of stubbornness he had to hold on to what was left, to not let go and disappear. But it was there and it was waiting and if it took him he wasn't all that sure he'd crawl back out again.

Already he wasn't the same man who'd been so fucking _chipper_ about goddamned near everything. Funny, he could barely remember what it felt like, those last few moments before he walked into Jim's cabin. Already the line was drawn, before and after. And the line was really this hole inside him that was chill and dark and empty and tasted like bile and ash.

McCoy opened his eyes as he sensed Uhura approach. She was dressed for a night in, thick white socks and flannel pajamas in a dusky pink. She thrust a mug at him, one almost too hot to hang onto. Or maybe it was just that his hands were so cold.

He felt himself hunch around it, elbows landing on his thighs. Raised the mug to his lips...sweet tea with a kick of something stronger---thank God not the bottle he'd brought. He had no clue where it had got to, but he was pretty damn sure he'd never want to see smell taste another drop of that particular libation ever again.

=======

The cushions shifted as Uhura sat next to him, tucking her legs under her. She laid a hand on his shoulder, the gentleness making his eyes sting once more. "You look like hell, Len."

McCoy nodded without looking over; he wouldn't disagree with that. He could feel the tightness where the salt had dried in tracks on his face. "I..." He coughed, cleared his throat and tried again. "I figured I'd drop in and surprise Spock and Jim during their chess game."

He barely forced the next sentence out. "I was the one surprised."

"No," she breathed in a slow exhale. Then she slid closer. One arm wrapped around his shoulders as she leaned against him. "I'm so sorry."

"Yeah," he rasped. Drank another swallow of tea, feeling the thin trickle of warmth inside. "Yeah."

Uhura didn't ask for details. She didn't ask any questions---questions McCoy kept asking himself and couldn't answer. She just sat beside him, one hand at the crook of his elbow and the other behind his neck stroking smooth, cool fingertips against his hairline.

After some time her murmur slipped into the silence. "When you first approached Spock, he came to me asking if it was some sort of human prank."

Her grip tightened on his arm. "I told him you would never do something like that. You weren't that sort of man...I didn't think he was, either."

McCoy ducked his head, breathed. Shrugged. Ignored the fresh heat gathered at the corners of his eyes.

He swallowed everything down with the last of the tea. He forced himself to straighten, spine, shoulders, neck, head. "Nyota, I need you to do something for me."

She sat up as well. "What?"

Strange as it seemed, it was still fairly early in the evening. Most folks likely hadn't made it to bed yet, even on Earth. "I need you to comm Admiral Pike. I have to talk to him."

Her eyes were soft with sympathy, but McCoy could see them narrow slightly as her brows lifted. "You sure you want to do that, Len? You're still---"

"I'm sure." He didn't want to hear it, hear her say he was still in shock and hurt and bewildered and lost and so, so cold. "I can't stay here...with _them_."

"You don't think you and Spock...?" Uhura's hands, usually so elegant and sure, fluttered in a gesture that seemed as helpless and hopeless as the situation.

"I think that it's pretty much Spock and Jim, now." McCoy shook his head at how easily that slipped out. Had he already accepted it, inevitable, some part of him always braced for the wrench of loss? Or maybe the fog was muffling thoughts the way it could muffle footsteps on wet pavement and the far-off bark of dogs guarding homes where people lived and loved and lay in their beds wrapped around each other safe and warm.

"I don't know what happened with them, Ny. Or what's gonna happen." He focused on the empty mug dangling loose in his fingers. "Maybe they'll shrug this off. Maybe they'll come together...maybe they'll break apart."

McCoy lifted his head to look at her. "I don't wanna know. I don't wanna care. And I sure as hell don't wanna be chained to a front-row seat."

She bit her lip, dropped her eyes. But nodded and got up, her hand squeezing his shoulder before she walked toward her desk.

=======

McCoy watched the water flow into his hands, spill over, and begin to drip into the sink basin. After a moment, he shook himself out of the daze and bent to rinse his face. The first splash of tepid water was a shock, but a few more times and he was used to it.

He groped for the small towel that Uhura'd laid out for him. When he raised his face from its folds his reflection met him under the unforgiving lights of Uhura's bathroom.

Even with his face clean he looked like hell---well, maybe hell warmed over. If he was a patient walking into Sickbay, he'd've been reaching for a hypo of sedative in two seconds flat. He couldn't meet his own reddened eyes.

He half-expected his beard suppressor to have shut down; it felt like the evening had lasted years and not hours. As it was, the deep frown lines that seemed to have sprung up in the last hour had nothing to hide behind.

McCoy swiped a hand through his hair, using the lingering dampness to get it into some kind of order. He straightened his shoulders, pulled his shirt smooth. Wouldn't do to go around looking like a crazy man. Even if he felt like dropping to the floor and rocking as he howled and howled until everything went dark.

Uhura got up from her desk as he walked back into the room. "Pike was still in his office. He's waiting for you."

She stopped next to him, rested a hand on his arm. "I didn't tell him anything---just that you needed to speak with him and it couldn't wait."

He swallowed, tried to dredge up a smile. He was damn lucky Uhura hadn't decided to go out this evening. She was a good woman, a good friend. He laid a hand over hers, squeezed her fingers. "Thanks, Ny."

She nodded and crossed into the bedroom area to give him the illusion of privacy. Although there wasn't anything left to hide.

He slid into the chair in front of the viewer and pressed the switch that would change the Starfleet symbol to an open comm line. His hands found their way to the edge of the desk, gripping the solid bulk of it to keep them from shaking.

Christopher Pike looked up from the padds that littered his desk in Starfleet Command. His brows rose as he silently nodded to McCoy.

"How are you?" Even now, McCoy couldn't _not_ ask. He'd spent that long, limping trip back to Earth from the Narada restoring Pike's nervous system. He'd had to do the work while Pike was conscious, hours at a time, checking the connections were correct every few moments.

It made for a lot of conversation, the intimacy of two people locked in their own world. McCoy bet he knew more about what Pike had gone through---and what he'd _felt_ , the pain and fear and anger and despair when Nero finally broke him---than anyone.

And Chris Pike knew things about McCoy, failures and lost hopes and shattered dreams. Things that he hadn't even told Spock. Probably never would, now.

"Good, really good. I'm back to running." Pike's voice was the familiar smooth rumble, his mouth curved in a wry smile. His eyes held a mix of affection and concern as he leaned back in his chair. "But you didn't call for a health update...what's goin' on, Doc?"

"I need you to get me off Enterprise." There, he said it. His voice was reasonably calm, even if his hands were clenched so tight on the edge of the desk he half-expected it to buckle under the pressure.

"I've been...emotionally compromised," he continued. And wasn't that the fucking understatement of the century. He straightened. "I can no longer fulfill my responsibilities to this crew as a doctor or as Chief Medical Officer."

"Bullshit," Pike shot back.

=======

McCoy blinked, mouth dropping open slightly.

"Emotionally compromised---my ass," Pike growled, leaning forward so his face practically filled the comm screen. "I _know_ you, _Doctor_. If Nero had turned Earth to dust and then got hauled onto Enterprise half-dead, you'd've been right in there, making sure the bastard got the best damn care in the universe no matter what the fuck he'd done. And anybody wanting to hurt him would have had to get through you _and_ your damn hyposprays to do it."

McCoy's lips pressed together. He wanted to deny it; couldn't. After someone was in his care he didn't give a damn who or what they were other than _his patient_.

He let go of the desk and slumped back, rubbing a hand down his face. He took a deep breath, met Pike's eyes. "Look, I'll give this to you straight: You can either accept my transfer request or my resignation. I don't much care which, but either way I _can't_ stay here."

"You mean that." Pike wasn't asking.

McCoy nodded. "Please," he whispered.

Pike looked at him for a long moment. McCoy didn't move, didn't even blink. He couldn't begin to guess what Pike was reading off his expression.

"OK," Pike finally said with a sigh. He glanced at one of the padds in front of him. "I was just about to send out updated orders. Enterprise's shore leave is canceled. The ship will only be stopping briefly to swap personnel. Refits have been postponed for three months while Enterprise escorts dignitaries to some treaty negotiations that could get dicey."

A frown wrinkled Pike's brow, making darker lines in his tanned skin. "I've got an idea...I'll arrange for a short-term replacement CMO and a temporary reassignment for you. Comm me tomorrow same time and I'll give you the details."

McCoy felt a boulder's weight slide off his chest. _Thank God..._ "Thanks."

"Get everything set up for the changeover on your end." Pike glanced back up, fixed him with a look. "Including explaining why you jumped over your captain's head for this."

McCoy nodded and switched off the comm. The next few days would be hell, but at least now he had hours to count instead of years.

He scrubbed both hands through his hair. He sure wasn't gonna go back to his cabin, Sickbay---anyplace where he was likely to cross paths with...with anyone.

Truth to tell, he just wanted to lay his head on Uhura's desk and wake up a few months or years from now when his whole goddamned _life_ didn't hurt anymore.

"Come on," Uhura said as she tugged at one arm.

McCoy lurched to his feet, leaning against her more than he'd like to admit as they stumbled a few steps together. She shoved him onto the couch and he dropped.

He tried to push her away when she dropped to her knees and started unfastening his boots.

She batted at his hands, then rested her own on his knees. Her dark eyes held his. "Look Len, I don't trust you to make it next door, much less to your cabin. So you can either sleep here or get hauled down to Sickbay for a nice shot of sedative and a biobed---your choice."

McCoy shrugged at her. The fog in his head was getting thicker, drowning out the litany of questions of _How?_ and _Why?_ and _What now?_ He was starting to think it wouldn't be all that bad to just give in to it. To forget everything, just for a while...


	3. Chapter 3

Even before McCoy opened his eyes, he knew that his life had changed. He wasn't naked, tangled up with Spock in a too-small bunk. He was still dressed and about to fall off Uhura's couch, shivering despite the blanket she'd covered him with.

He held in a groan as he levered himself up to sitting, feeling way older than his almost-33 years. A glance toward the back of the cabin showed Uhura sound asleep, one hand tucked under her pillow.

As he leaned down to pull on his boots, he noticed a padd on the coffee table. He lifted it and read "Sent a message that you weren't feeling well and may not report for duty. Wake me if you need me.---Ny"

McCoy typed "Thanks" underneath and left it where he'd found it. He didn't bother checking the time as he made his way out into the corridor.

Maybe it was the fog or maybe it was waking up still so tired in the late hours of the ship's night. Either way, his mind stayed blissfully blank as he stumbled back to his own cabin.

It was empty, of course. He squelched the tiny spark that had hoped otherwise, had hoped this was all some crazy nightmare. A quick visit to the bathroom---avoiding the mirror---and he was out in the quiet dimness of his rooms.

Strange, how they looked just the same when he was so different. He made his way to the synthesizer, dialed up a coffee and a nutrient bar that he might be able to force down.

After swallowing his small meal and brushing his teeth, McCoy sat at the empty desk and pulled out a padd. First thing, he sent a note to his staff informing them of the new CMO---details to come as soon as he got them. He also gave a not-so-subtle warning that all stations and reports damned well better be shipshape by the time his replacement arrived.

Then he started reviewing his own reports. And every crewmember's file for any missing info. A universe gone to shit was no excuse for shoddy paperwork---not when somebody's life could depend on a stray factoid that was in McCoy's head but not yet on record.

=======

McCoy jerked in his seat when the chime sounded. The stiffness of his limbs told him a few hours had passed. His nerves tightened as he glanced around the room, looking for escape or a hiding place.

But there wasn't any. He pressed the door control, not trusting his voice.

Spock glided in, stopped just past the sensor for the doorway. His face displayed its usual calm, but tension showed in the line of his shoulders as he clasped his hands behind his back. "You did not appear, after your shift."

McCoy just kept looking at him: at the upswept brows and elegant ears, at the perfectly straight hair that McCoy loved to tousle. He was grateful for the fog that kept him from screaming or clawing those brown eyes out of the face he'd woken up to day after day, month after month. He looked at the man he loved, but maybe never knew.

Spock's brows drew together a fraction, a small line forming between them. "You know."

McCoy dipped his head once. Forced out the questions that still echoed with every breath. "How'd it happen, Spock?" He leaned forward. " _Why_?"

It couldn't be an unexpected question---not to a brain that calculated rings around most computers. Yet the slackness of Spock's expression, the slight shuffle of his feet, suggested otherwise. Spock looked away. "I...It is not a simple matter."

McCoy was out of his seat and halfway across the room before he blinked. He jerked to a stop, keeping the couch between them. His hands shook---he clenched them to keep from reaching out for Spock, to strangle him or clutch at him.

To force Spock to _feel_. McCoy wanted to vomit up all the love and rage and despair and contempt and confusion and loss that ran through his head and his heart and coagulated in that big black pit in his core. To make Spock take the hurt and the helplessness that was now McCoy's whole world.

But McCoy didn't, couldn't touch Spock. Couldn't force all that on him, not when he knew how frighteningly thin Spock's shields could be. As angry and hurt and _lost_ as McCoy felt, that was...that just wasn't something McCoy could do.

Uhura was right: He wasn't that kind of man.

But at that moment he almost wished he could be. "Just tell me," he gritted out, "Was it always Jim?"

=======

"Yes." Spock's answer was soft; too soft to shatter McCoy the way it did.

McCoy sank onto the coffee table in a long, slow collapse. The edges in him finally crumbled into the pit as he let go of whatever vague hopes he'd clung to.

Spock stepped forward, reached out. Then froze and dropped his hands. "This was not supposed to happen."

"What? You fucking Jim or me finding out?" McCoy snarled. He winced at the bitter tone, but set his jaw and stared Spock down.

"That is not---" Spock stopped, seemed to struggle to breathe. Muscles looked stretched so tight McCoy half-expected them to snap from Spock's bones.

McCoy waved away the question, cursing himself for letting Spock off the hook even that much. For still _caring_. "If you wanted Jim, why get involved with me at all?"

He was still trying to comprehend it...all those nights curled close together, Spock was dreaming of _Jim_. Had Jim known, all this time? Had he dreamed of Spock as well?

Eventually Spock gathered himself back in, settled into his former stance. His eyes, though...they held a suspicious sheen. "Your invitation was...unexpected. I found the idea intriguing."

"I asked then if you were free, Spock." McCoy shifted. "You lied to me."

"No." Spock's chin rose. "When you first approached me, you asked if I were still 'hung up' on Uhura, and I was not."

"And you didn't think to mention that you _were_ hung up on my best friend?" _Damned literal Vulcan_. McCoy would have laughed if it wouldn't turn into something shrill and sharp-edged that would echo off the walls and never stop.

"I calculated that the likelihood of Jim ever desiring an exclusive relationship was so low as to be almost nonexistent. He had never demonstrated an inclination for such, and expressed dislike at the thought of any restriction on his activities." Spock lifted his hands as if concluding a tutorial. "Thus I considered my...interest in him...irrelevant."

"Not to me," McCoy growled. He sat back as a sudden thought struck him. "That's why you never wanted to meld with me, isn't it? You figured I'd find out about your _interest_."

"Correct," Spock admitted. "If you had been aware of the situation, you would have abandoned the possibility of a relationship. And I...I did not want you to do so."

McCoy shook his head slowly, talking to himself now. "All this time, I figured you just didn't want to have that logical clockwork brain of yours tainted by the overemotional human."

"Although it is true that I have never melded with a partner in that sense, your assumption was incorrect." Spock swallowed. "I have...I have enjoyed our time together."

"Yeah." McCoy rubbed at his forehead. He let himself slump forward, everything draining away as he stared at the couch cushions where he and Spock sat so many evenings. "So did I."

"Leonard..." Spock moved to the back edge of the couch, "Jim and I discussed you join---"

"Not gonna happen." McCoy glanced up, watched something flicker in Spock's eyes and disappear. He sighed. "Even if this hadn't happened...it's just not possible, Spock. I don't feel that way about Jim. Never have." _And Jim knew it_.

Early on, Jim had made McCoy an offer. But truth was, McCoy just wasn't interested. Sure, Jim was handsome, but there was no zing when McCoy looked at him or thought about him. Jim was too blond, too pretty, too cocky, too glib...too careless about things McCoy considered important.

And hanging around for whatever fraction of Spock he'd get as Spock divvied himself up between McCoy and Jim? Not an option.

"But don't worry," McCoy said with a shrug. "It's not like I'm gonna be around subjecting you to 'illogical emotional outbursts' every five minutes."

Spock almost-frowned. "Your reassignment is temporary."

McCoy shook his head. "The replacement CMO is temporary. I'm not plannin' on comin' back."

The almost-frown turned into a real one. "Lieutenant Uhura did not leave Enterprise at the cessation of my liaison with her."

McCoy blinked. He'd like to think Spock would miss him, but he wasn't all too sure that enjoyment of his presence ranked above ship efficiency in Spock's view. Not anymore. "Uhura and you, that was a mutual thing. And neither of you were hoppin' right from one bed to another. There's a difference---and you sure as hell know it."

"So there is." Spock looked like he did after the choking incident that first day on Enterprise, way back before there was a Leonard and Spock, or even a Jim and Spock. "I...I do regret that you have suffered in this. Please know that it was never my intention. It---it simply happened."

McCoy snorted. Couldn't help the faint spark of amusement and affection. "Trust this to be the one time you decide to chuck logic out the airlock." Not much comfort, but at least he knew that his heartache was thanks to Spock's emotional impulse, not factored in some calculation of pros and cons and consequences.

Spock straightened into near-military stance and raised his hand in the Vulcan gesture of welcome and farewell. "Live long and prosper, Leonard."

McCoy nodded. "Take care of yourself, Spock."

He watched in silence as Spock pivoted on his heel and walked out the door.


	4. Chapter 4

As McCoy showered and dressed, he came to realize that he was actually starting to feel _normal_. Like he'd always existed in this shocked daze that left his soul shredded and bleeding.

Amazing thing, the human mind. Learned to live with damn near anything. But he was pretty sure this calm was just the fog, settled over the pit like a shell, thin and fragile.

Even though he was already in uniform, McCoy decided to give himself the day off. He sent a message to his staff arranging a meeting for the next day, and another one to Scotty asking for some packing containers.

McCoy was standing in the middle of his cabin when his chime sounded. He was glad for the interruption; he'd been staring at the stuff he'd accumulated since he'd joined Starfleet. Books and pictures and knick-knacks that reminded him of places he'd been and people he'd met.

Spock lived in so many of them...

"Come," he called, bracing himself for whoever came in the door.

He sagged onto the couch a second later. Scotty bounded in, followed only slightly more sedately by Gaila. Each carried a pair of large lidded crates.

"Hey Doc," Scotty greeted as he plopped his burdens on the coffee table and himself next to McCoy. "Don't know why yeh wanted these---surely we can stash yer stand-in inside one of the VIP suites."

His red tunic stretched as he leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head. "No matter, though, I've already got a nice corner in one of the storage rooms picked out fer all o'yer stuff."

McCoy cleared his throat. "Uh, that won't be necessary, Scotty. I'm taking everything with me...um, just in case."

Gaila laid her boxes more carefully on the desk. "This has to do with Mister Spock staying so late in Jim's cabin, doesn't it?"

"What's that, lass?" Scotty looked over his shoulder at Gaila, brows raised. He turned shocked eyes back to McCoy. "Is that the way it is, then?"

"Yeah," McCoy said, rubbing at the back of his neck.

"That's a damn shame." Scotty sat up and brought his hands down. One landed on McCoy's knee. Scotty's brow furrowed. "I thought you and Mister Spock were---"

"Apparently not." McCoy really didn't want to talk about it. "He and Jim are..." He trailed off with a shrug.

"Ah." Scotty nodded, reclaimed his hand to fold his arms over his chest.

"But why would you leave Enterprise?" Gaila came over and perched on the coffee table. Coppery curls shifted as her head tilted. She focused on McCoy. "If you and Mister Spock are having sex and now he and Jim are, why didn't you join them?"

The shell _was_ thin---rage surged forth like a geyser of bile. "Because," McCoy snapped. "When I found my lover and my best friend fucking my first thought wasn't 'Oooheee, I gotta jump right in and get me some of that'."

McCoy was kicking himself even before Gaila rocked back, hurt flashing across her face. "I'm sorry, Gaila." He scrubbed his fingers across his forehead as he struggled for control. "That was uncalled-for. I'm not at my best right now."

He sighed. How to explain? Gaila was like Jim, one of those bright, glittery shooting stars, trailing lovers instead of dust in their wakes. "I'm not like you, Gaila. For me, when a person is in a relationship, sex is...going to bed together is like building a home together, making a life together. It's special...and not something I've ever wanted with Jim."

"I'm sorry I brought it up." Gaila reached forward and squeezed the knee that Scotty had abandoned. "It just seemed like a perfect solution."

"Not for me." McCoy shook his head. "I can't pretend I feel something I don't, just to make things easier."

"And yeh can't pretend _not_ to feel the way yeh do...that's why yer leavin', aye?" Scotty's mouth stretched into a grim line, adding years to his face.

McCoy had to look away, swallowing as he gave a jerky nod.

Suddenly his face was crushed into red uniform as Gaila wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him in for a hug. When he could see her face once more, she'd lost her usual sparkle. "I'll miss you, Doctor Bones."

"Aye, poker night won't be the same without yeh." Scotty gripped McCoy's shoulder hard, eyes suspiciously bright. "Lots o'things won't be."

==========

McCoy spent the next few hours alone, packing. He'd been spared visiting the mess hall by a full tray of food transporting onto his bunk at lunch time. He couldn't check what was under the lids until he'd blinked his vision clear, sending a silent thanks to Scotty and Gaila.

So no wonder he damned near dropped an antique microscope when his door swished open without warning. He set the fragile device down on the desk before turning to face his visitor.

Jim didn't break stride until he reached the other side of the desk and flung a padd onto it. "What the fuck is this?"

McCoy hadn't really thought about this moment. Truth to tell, he hadn't been thinking about much of anything. Just focusing on each movement of his hands, each step back to the boxes as he emptied drawers and cleared shelves.

He should've guessed Jim would barge in, all blaze and brass trying to brazen it out. A sudden memory of Jim's last run at the Kobyashi Maru flashed through McCoy's mind---and the whole "Cheating's not really cheating" spiel at the hearing afterward.

Jim crossed his arms and thrust out one hip in his usual "bring it on" stance. "What, so you're just gonna bail right before an important mission, Bones? That it?"

McCoy stared at Jim in full captain mode. Thought of all those moments when Jim demanded the universe twist his way and the universe complied because he was James T. Kirk. And McCoy thought of all the times the universe let _him_ twist in the wind because he was just Doctor Leonard H. McCoy and always second choice.

His eyes narrowed as something dark and bitter slithered from the pit and up his spine, straightening it as he crossed his own arms. "You really wanna make this about the _mission_ , Jim?"

He almost didn't recognize his own voice, so silky and cold. "You consider how it might go down? D'you think I won't roll my eyes when Spock announces that Vulcans can't lie? Or that I could keep a straight face while you tell some poor schmuck you've just met that you can be trusted? 'Cause I don't think I'm that good an actor."

McCoy could almost hear the clicks of Jim's brain during the wait for a reply.

Jim suddenly shifted, settling back on his heels and opening his arms. "Look, Bones, I know it's a fucked-up situation. But we can talk---"

"How'd you think this would end, Jim?" McCoy's body tensed as he braced himself, but he wasn't sure for what.

"How d'you think, Bones?" Jim shook his head, flashed his famous shit-eating grin. "All three of us---"

"Bullshit." McCoy said, quiet. He breathed deep, dropped his arms. "Bullshit," he said louder.

He took a step around the desk, then another, never shifting his gaze from Jim's. "Is that the line you fed Spock? 'Cause you damn well knew that was never on the table, Jim. Never."

The core of him was churning, heating, and McCoy could feel the blood rushing to his face as his fingers curled into claws.

Jim dropped the smile. His face took on the hard edge that most folks never bothered to notice as those ice-blue eyes glittered. "I figured you'd change your mind, once Spock and I were---"

"You figured wrong." And the rage wasn't a geyser this time but a fucking volcano. McCoy was on Jim in less than a breath, hands fisting in Jim's gold tunic. He hefted Jim and rushed two steps forward, slamming Jim's back into the wall. Pinning him there. His mouth opened in a snarl that bared teeth. He wanted to rip out Jim's throat, tear the flesh from Jim's too-pretty face and leave Jim as scarred and ugly as McCoy felt. "Why'd you do it, you bastard?"

McCoy pulled Jim forward, slammed him again." _Why_?"

========

"Because you were taking Spock away!" Jim shouted.

He twisted and McCoy let him go. Blinked as Jim stumbled a few steps and braced a hand on the back of a chair.

Jim looked up at McCoy and this time all the masks were gone. This was the Jim of late nights and whispered fears that only came out when the whiskey bottle was empty. "You were taking Spock away...he was taking you away."

He swallowed, shook his head. "You weren't supposed to be _together_ , Bones. You---both of you---were supposed to stay with me. With _me_. Spock---Old Spock---he showed me. But you two were together all the time and all Spock could talk about was you and it was like you two were drifting away and I couldn't stop it and I would lose you both but I knew, I knew that Spock could be mine and if I had him I could get you and it would all be OK and it...it just happened."

"God, Jim." McCoy couldn't get his mind around it, how Jim's mix of arrogant SOB and needy child had brought them to this. "Do you even care about Spock?"

"Yeah, I do, Bones, I do. I swear." Jim straightened up, stepped forward. "I know I royally fucked up here. I know it. But we can work this out. You're my best friend, Bones."

Jim reached out a hand. "We need you. _I_ need you."

McCoy shook his head, a slow turn from side to side. The rage had gone and all that was left were the dregs of what might have been. "When I was about five years old, my mama took me down the street to meet the new neighbors. There was a kid named Peter there, about my age. We played together and at the end of the day he said we were best friends."

The small smile made his face ache. "And we were. For more than 20 years we had each other's backs, through good and bad. He was there for me when my ma died when I was eight. He cried on my shoulder when his brother was killed in a shuttle crash. Peter was best man at my wedding."

Jim's hand dropped. He held still, watching, eyes locked on McCoy.

"So when my dad got sick..." McCoy had to stop and clear his throat. "I was spending all those hours at the hospital. Peter would stop by the house in the evening. Keep Jocelyn company so I wouldn't feel so bad leaving her alone all the time."

He lifted a hand to his mouth, like he could hide the words even as they stumbled out. "On the day my dad...died, I came home early. Found them in bed together. I dragged him to the floor and beat him nearly half to death."

McCoy felt the same way he did then, after Peter and Jocelyn had fled. After the shock and adrenaline had drained away. Cold and tired. So, so tired. "Peter's not my friend anymore, Jim. And neither are you."

Jim looked like he did that day on the flight deck when he knew Enterprise was taking off without him. Lost and lonely and a little scared.

"Spock chose you, Jim. As far as he's concerned, it's always been you. So you damned well better do right by him." McCoy turned away. "I'll thank you to leave me be...let me get on with my life without him."

He stared at a blank wall until he heard the door close.

For a long moment McCoy just breathed. Then he straightened up and went back to packing. When he lifted a book, something shifted behind it and tumbled to the floor.

The book slipped from his fingers as he sank to his knees, staring at the scroll. It looked so innocent, lying there curled up. Waiting to be opened, ready to make its declaration to the world. To the person who inspired it---who probably wouldn't even understand what it said. What it meant. What McCoy said and meant and poured into every word.

McCoy reached out, grabbed it, crumpled the scroll in his fist. The next thing he knew he was ripping it, shredding it, tearing into it the way he wanted to claw deep and bloody gouges into Spock, into Jim, until their blood ran green and red and mingled and dried into the black of the pit that still yawned inside McCoy like a gator, all teeth and jaw stretched wide to swallow him down into the darkness...

He curled into a ball, scraps of papyrus still clenched in his fists. He pressed the heels of his hands into his forehead, hid his face in the shadow between his wrists as he rocked and rocked.


	5. Chapter 5

McCoy jerked awake to the sound of the computer informing him of the time. With a muttered curse he told it to shut up. He pushed himself up off the floor, absently releasing the scraps to shove his fingers through his hair.

He stumbled to the bathroom to try and at least make himself _look_ like he had it together. After cleaning up and swallowing some water, he fell into his desk chair and contacted the bridge to request a comm to Pike.

Pike came on-screen in the middle of a laugh. Liquor tilted dangerously close to the rim of his glass as he leaned back. But the mirth faded from his expression when he looked at McCoy. "Hey, Doc."

Phaser-hot jealousy flashed through McCoy---how could Pike be _happy_ while McCoy's life got sucked into the vacuum? But he shrugged it off. "You got something for me?"

"Yeah." Pike beckoned to someone out of range, then rose out of his chair to crouch beside it.

McCoy's mouth twitched at a familiar flash of dimples and blue tunic. He managed to return Sabrina Caine's rueful grin with a faint smile. "Hi, Brie."

She hadn't changed---black kinked hair cut shorter than McCoy's, smooth cocoa skin hiding her age, dark eyes full of warmth and wisdom.

"Hey, Len." Brie propped an elbow on the desk, cupped a pointed chin in her palm. "I hear you got yourself some trouble."

"I guess you could say that." McCoy sighed. "So, you gonna ride herd on this wild bunch?"

"I'll give it my best shot." Brie's eyes held his. "You OK, Len?"

"Nah, but I'll be better once I'm...out of range." _Out of sight, out of mind, out of heart_. It hadn't worked all that well before, but it was the best he could do. "Thanks, Brie. I know you're about as eager to get on this floating deathtrap as I was."

Brie shrugged. "Gotta put in some hours out there, up there, whatever, if I wanna keep my flight credentials. Besides, I'm not doing this for free."

"Yeah?" McCoy leaned back, crossed his arms. "What's it gonna cost me?"

Brie wrinkled her nose. "Well, for starters, you'll be covering all of my Academy classes and clinic hours at the base hospital."

Pike leaned in. "In addition to that, you'll be constructing some updates and additional field training courses for medical and other personnel based on some of your mission logs."

"They're very interesting reading," Brie murmured with a lift of brows.

Pike glanced at Brie with a half-smile, then looked back to McCoy. "You'll run a few test scenarios during this three-month stint, get the parameters nailed down."

He paused. "If you...if you decide to make the transfer permanent, then you have the choice to run the new courses next term or move on to a new assignment."

"You're bein' awfully accommodating," McCoy couldn't help noticing. He knew he _was_ calling in a favor by contacting Pike, and he _was_ desperate to get away, but still...

"Don't be an idiot," Pike scoffed. "You think I wanna explain to the rest of the Starfleet brass how I let a top-notch doctor get away because I wouldn't give him a change of scene?"

"You haven't even asked me what happened." McCoy didn't want to tell them---tell anyone---but he owed them and knew it.

Brie gave him a sad smile. "If and when you want us to know, we will." She straightened in her chair. "Now tell me about this crew of yours."

McCoy let himself relax. "Well, first off, when it comes to their own health and safety, they're all idiots---it's just a question of degree."

He almost smiled at their chuckles. Almost. "My people are the best you'll find, on-planet or off. Other than that...I'll let you form your own opinions." He surely wasn't gonna share his current thoughts on---on _anyone_. "What about your students?"

Brie smirked. "You'll get the full spectrum from know-nothings to know-it-alls. Just scare the hell out of 'em the first day and you'll be fine."

McCoy snorted. "That I can do."

"And one more thing." Brie reached out and rested a hand on Pike's shoulder, tilted her head toward him. "Keep this one out of trouble for me."

McCoy had to look away. He couldn't watch as the two glanced at each other, as Pike's hand reached across and came to rest on Brie's. As McCoy _ached_ for what had been his just a few days ago. He swallowed. "I'll do my best."

After a moment he turned back to the screen to see Pike sitting alone. "There'll be a brief meeting when Enterprise arrives tomorrow, to make the handover official."

Pike's tone softened. "You comm or come see me, Doc. About anything."

McCoy nodded and signed off. Maybe he would.

=========

"OK, folks, that's all I've got." McCoy looked up from his padd, eyes roaming the faces of people he'd come to know, and appreciate, in his time on Enterprise---once he'd knocked some sense into them, of course. "Brie Caine is good people. You do your jobs right and you'll have no complaints."

He cleared his throat and shuffled his feet. This was harder than he'd thought. "I'll tell you what I told her: You're the best, on-planet or off. So if you ever need anything...references, advice, a couch to crash on---you give me a call."

A wave of his hand covered a hasty blink. This was no time to turn on the waterworks, damn it. "Dismissed."

He quickly picked out the two heads he was interested in. "Chapel, M'Benga, my office, please."

McCoy could feel two sets of eyes---one blue, one brown, both intense---boring into his back as he led the way. He set the padd on his desk and went to the shelf he kept his Saurian brandy on, sliding out the entire tray of decanter and glasses.

He was leaving this behind; Brie always had a taste for the good stuff. There were fewer personal items in here...and a lot of padds with theses and/or experiments scribbled on them.

Technically he should combine them into one or two large directories, so as not to deprive the Enterprise. Instead he'd put in a requisition for some more padds. He could organize his personal paperwork later...he figured he was gonna have a lot of time on his hands.

When he looked up from pouring three measures of the amber liquor, Chapel and M'Benga were already in their seats. Typical---Christine as neat as a pin and sitting just like a lady, knees together and ankles tucked under her chair, while Jabilo sprawled in a defiance of the laws of physics, taking up twice as much space as he should be able to.

McCoy handed out the glasses and slid into his own seat. He raised his drink in a toast. "To a boring mission and an empty Sickbay."

The other two grinned as they all clinked glasses. Chapel's eyes narrowed as she sipped her drink and studied him. "That was quite a speech you gave out there." She leaned forward. "You're not coming back, are you?"

McCoy almost smiled at M'Benga's startled expression. Almost. "Honestly, I don't think it's likely. Pike'll probably look for a new CMO when Enterprise comes back for the refits."

He kicked M'Benga's foot with his own. "You want the job? I can start filling out forms while you're out gallivanting with the ambassadors and whatnot."

M'Benga huffed. "Probably'd take you 'til we get back to finish the paperwork." His free hand rose to slide across his shaved scalp. "Hadn't thought about it, to be honest."

"Mind you, it's not a sure thing." McCoy leaned back and lifted his legs to rest his boots on the corner of his desk. "I'm only in the job 'cause Puri didn't make it---the brass may want to add someone to Enterprise with a gray hair or two to balance out all the kids on the bridge."

"I'm sorry things didn't work out here for you." M'Benga's expression held a mix of sympathy and profound embarrassment as he looked anywhere but McCoy.

"Tell me about it," Chapel said with a smirk. "You have any idea how long it takes to train a brand-new CMO?"

McCoy nodded his thanks at her diversion. "Well, my advice to you is to just let Brie do things her way for this stint. That woman's twice as stubborn as a mule on a _good_ day."

" _Almost_ as stubborn as you, then," she shot back with a wink. Then she sighed. "It'll be strange, with you gone."

McCoy nodded. "It'll be strange to be gone."

M'Benga leaned forward. "But if that's what you need..." He held out his free hand. "Thanks for everything."

McCoy tossed back the rest of his drink and clasped M'Benga's hand with a nod. As he stood so did the others.

Chapel set her empty glass on the desk, put her hands on McCoy's shoulders. Her gentle features had settled into stern lines. "Keep in touch. Don't make us have to hunt you down to find out how you're doing."

"Yes, ma'am," McCoy said, giving her arms a quick squeeze before she moved away.

M'Benga slid an arm around Chapel's shoulders as they left the room.

=========

Uhura wasn't exactly hunting Spock down; she was simply paying a friend a visit.

When the door to his quarters opened, she sidestepped around him into the room. She then turned and rested one hand lightly on his sleeve. "Spock."

His agitation was subtle: A slight narrowing of shadowed eyes, a tension in his frame that came from something more---or something other---than Vulcan discipline.

But his frown was obvious. "While it is probable that both of us awakening at this hour is more than coincidental, this is not a convenient time, Nyota. There is a matter I must attend to---"

"Len is already gone." At the slackening of Spock's features, Uhura felt a flash of gratitude to Keenser for slipping her the information before Spock was out in public. "He beamed to Earth a few minutes ago, as soon as we came into range."

She pivoted on her heel and moved farther into the room. Giving Spock space, time, and silence to process the news. Uhura had never pushed Spock to be---to _appear_ \---more emotional than he was comfortable.

After a few moments, Spock straightened and clasped his hands behind his back. "I would surmise that your awareness of current events is greater than what has been disseminated via the ship's 'scuttlebutt'."

He seemed to brace himself. "Is there some other information---or opinion---that you intend to convey?"

Uhura shook her head slightly. If this had been the night McCoy stumbled heartbroken into her quarters, she might have indulged in a tongue-lashing that would have exhausted her ability to conjure Vulcan curses.

But enough time had already passed to make her realize that, as angry and hurt for Len as she was, _she_ wasn't the injured party. Haranguing Spock simply wasn't her place. Any indignation she expressed would be muddying waters that were clouded enough already.

Especially since she didn't truly know what happened. She'd only seen the aftermath.

"Simply that I care about you." Uhura approached Spock, lifted her face to him. "The next few days may be unsettling, even for you. I just wanted you to know that if you need me, I'm here."

"I will take your words under advisement." He reached out, rested a hand on her shoulder. Held her gaze for a long moment. " _Nemaiyo_ , Nyota."

She nodded to him and made her way out.

========

Spock stepped into Leonard's quarters, let the door close behind him. The rooms were profoundly empty. Which was to be expected, with Leonard already beamed to Earth.

That Leonard had been willing to "have his molecules scattered across the cosmos like so much confetti" without a protest was anomalous, to say the least.

So, logically, there was no reason for Spock to enter Leonard's cabin. Yet he was here.

He moved farther into the room, his gaze roaming the blank walls and empty shelves. Although the temperature was the same as in most other areas of the ship, the air felt cooler.

Impossible, but his impression nonetheless.

Spock could recall hundreds of moments spent within these walls. Each one tied inextricably to Leonard and the wash of confusion the man often inspired in Spock.

With a quick tug at his uniform, Spock reminded himself that when choices were made, potentials were eliminated. This was the way of logic, of time, of the universe itself. He had made his choice in a flash of emotion, not after a reflection upon circumstances or predictions of consequences. That some of his long-standing deductions---assumptions---had proved to be in error was something to acknowledge and accept. And live with. Further rumination upon events would not change them.

But he could not banish the memory of Leonard's face, that last time they spoke. Or the small smile Leonard always wore as they slept wrapped around each other, Leonard's breaths soft against Spock's skin.

Spock straightened and briskly cataloged the changes in the room. There must be some purpose to this visit. He did not expect the small pile of objects found resting in the center of Leonard's bunk. He quickly examined them and confirmed they were _his_ , personal items that had accumulated in Leonard's cabin over the course of their relationship.

He had a similar collection of Leonard's things in his own quarters. Leonard had not asked for them, and Spock had not thought to return them. Could not bring himself to face Leonard again. Vulcan stoicism dictated the avoidance of excessive emotion, and there was little else to expect in further conversation with Leonard.

A container would be required to relocate the objects to his own quarters. Spock turned and stepped past the partition that separated the living and sleeping areas.

As he did so, his eye fell upon a further incongruity: a small section of material upon the carpet under the desk. As he approached and knelt, he found it to be a scrap of...papyrus. One of many littered upon the floor.

Spock picked up one piece and examined it. His brows rose as he realized the ink letters upon it were Vulcan---but a fragment too small to determine the word they were once part of.

Without further deliberation, he began to gather the scattered pieces in careful hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nemaiyo = Thank you


	6. Chapter 6

McCoy was a yellow-bellied coward; he freely admitted it. He'd jumped ship the second his cells could be scrambled like billions of microscopic chicken eggs and dished up on Earth. Nothing with him but a duffel bag, his ID, credit chip, and orders.

Didn't say good-bye to anyone. Couldn't. Spock and Jim's...new arrangements...were no doubt already part of the scuttlebutt, and McCoy couldn't face the pity in the eyes of people who'd seen him strolling around the ship beaming like a love-struck idiot just a few days before.

Folks could mutter behind his metaphorical back just as well as the literal one. Fuck if he'd stick around to hear the whispers about what went wrong. _Everything_.

He'd met with Brie in Pike's office for the handover, then hid out at the hospital until Enterprise left orbit. Half-afraid every moment that he'd turn the corner to find a too-familiar face.

But now it was high noon---time for a showdown. McCoy nodded to the Andorian ensign manning Pike's front desk. "I have a scheduled meeting. Is Admiral Pike available?"

"Doctor McCoy?" the man confirmed with a dip of antennae. At McCoy's nod the ensign gestured toward the door behind him. "The admiral's waiting for you, sir."

McCoy took a deep breath as he crossed the threshold. This moment was the first that had felt real since McCoy had walked into Jim's cabin just a handful of nights before. Spock was _gone_. Enterprise was gone.

"Sir," was all he said as he came to parade rest in front of Pike's desk.

Pike gave him a once-over, eyes narrowed. He stood and crossed the room, veering around McCoy. "Walk with me."

McCoy pivoted and followed, not bothering to voice his confusion until they were in the hall. "We goin' someplace in particular?"

A sideways glance was the only reply until they were outdoors. McCoy automatically lifted his face to the sun, still unused to its warmth after so many months in space.

"Olympia's Diner," Pike finally said as they stepped through the gates to the campus. "You look like you could use a good meal." He nudged McCoy's shoulder with his own. "And a good night's sleep."

"That's a fact." McCoy _hadn't_ been sleeping much, if at all. Too used to Spock's warmth and scent and breath wrapped around him. A standard-issue blanket just wasn't the same. "It'll get better." Eventually.

"You let me know if there's anything I can do," Pike said as they reached the restaurant, a centuries-old diner whose menu also reflected the owners' proud Greek ancestry. A haven for locals---and faculty and students who managed to "leave the Starfleet at the door".

The green-and-yellow stripes of the awnings and umbrellas were a bit more faded, the wrought-iron tables under them a bit more weathered. Otherwise the place looked just as it did when Enterprise left Earth's orbit the first time under Jim Kirk, almost two years ago. McCoy followed Pike in.

The inside was packed with people as well, typical for this time of day. Pike told McCoy to order him pepper and eggs with rye toast, hash browns, and black coffee, then scooted across the tiled floor to snag a tiny table that just opened up in front of the window.

McCoy almost chuckled at the sight. He didn't have long to wait---this staff could give any Starfleet crew tips on efficiency. He finally decided on spanakopita with a side of tabouli for himself.

Part of him felt he should've ordered a hamburger--- _extra juicy_ with the works---and a giant order of fries. But without Spock there to lift an eyebrow and make a comment about McCoy's "indulgences", there wasn't much point.

There wasn't much point to most things McCoy did, these days.

Someone had already cleared the previous occupants' plates, wiped down the table, and given them new place settings by the time McCoy sat down with his water and Pike's coffee. He snorted at the blur of the busboy dashing off.

Pike reached over to squeeze McCoy's arm. "What I said before---I mean it."

"I know you do." It was all McCoy could reply.

With a shake of the head Pike leaned back and took a sip of coffee. "I owe you, y'know---and not just for making sure all my parts were still in working order after Nero."

McCoy lifted an eyebrow.

Pike shrugged. "According to Brie, it's thanks to you she and I got together."

"I wasn't even on the planet when you got together." McCoy's eyes narrowed. "Unless you were getting up to more in that hospital bed than anyone told me."

"You asked Brie to look in on me. She came over for a consult---hell, after you left everybody in the damn building came in for a consult at some point." A grin further warmed Pike's sunlit features. "She said the only symptom she could alleviate was my boredom."

McCoy almost smiled. "She can at that."

Two plates of food appeared in front of them so suddenly McCoy would've thought a transporter was involved. If he hadn't been familiar with the service at the diner, of course.

After a few minutes of chewing and blissful sighing, Pike took up his story again. "Brie would stop by most days. Just to chat or play cards, pick at my plate and tell me hospital food was crap but I'd better eat it or I'd never get well enough to take her out dancing---and didn't I know she'd bought a new dress just for the occasion? We went on from there."

"I hope everything works out for you two." McCoy meant it, even as his gut twisted with knowing how things could seem so right but go so wrong. "I'm surprised she was willing to take this mission, then."

"At some point I'm hoping to go back into space. Brie doesn't want to be left behind when it counts." Pike shrugged. "And that means keeping up her credentials."

His elbow nudged McCoy. "What about you? You think you'll stay here now that you're finally back on the ground?"

"I have no idea." McCoy sipped his water, sighed. "I'm just focusing on the day by day---haven't got a clue what I'll want three months from now."

"Look, Brie's given her classes the rest of the week off," Pike said with a lift of his fork. He chewed, hummed, swallowed. "I've arranged for some quarters for you, and had your stuff transported there. Why don't you take those days for yourself, get settled? Start fresh next week."

A crazy idea flashed into McCoy's mind. He straightened up with a blink. _Why the hell not?_ "Thanks. I might just do that."

============

OK. Sabrina Caine was hot, in that older-chick-who-could-show-Jim-a-thing-or-three kind of way. She was also not interested, from the _so not impressed_ eye-roll she gave him the first time he turned on the charm. Funny how everybody who ever shot him down had the same reaction: Uhura, Caine, Pike, Chapel, M'Benga, Bo---other people.

So...Sabrina Caine was hot. She was also earthy, funny, brilliant, and could wield a hypospray with the best of 'em.

Jim hated her, of course. Because she wasn't Bones.

He sighed and let his elbows slide across his desk until he could rest his chin on his crossed arms. Of course it wasn't _her_ fault she wasn't Bones. It wasn't her fault Bones wasn't on Enterprise, dosing the crew with gruff affection and sarcastic comments along with the cure for whatever ailed them.

That was down to Jim. And Spock.

He wondered if Bones had told Spock that Jim _knew_. That Jim had pitched a naughty suggestion or two to Bones back in the day. Bones had not only _not_ caught it---he'd smacked the idea so far out of the ballpark it had landed back in Iowa.

Jim had known Bones wasn't interested, that night in his quarters. The night Jim had used every move of the chess game to seduce Spock with whispers of the three of them together.

It had worked better, faster than he expected. Because that night he and Spock had fucked. Fucked their lives right to hell.

He groaned and ducked his face down. He hadn't lied---not really. He'd just been wrong about what would happen. He'd figured that Bones wouldn't give up Spock, not if all he had to do to keep Spock was accept _his best friend_ Jim as part of the package.

It made sense that Bones would cave. Like Bones did every time Jim had some stupid-ass plan. Fuck, half the time he came _up_ with stupid-ass plans knowing Bones and Spock had his back and if the three of them were together nothing could go wrong.

Except Bones hadn't caved. Bones had let Spock go, had moved out and moved on.

So instead of the ménage à trois that Jim had envisioned---Bones and Spock anchored to him, _his_ \---he'd lost Bones entirely.

He did have Spock, sort of.

Jim hadn't lied to Bones about that, either. Not really. He _did_ care about Spock. Just not...not the way Bones did, all or nothing and so wrapped up in each other that they didn't need anyone else.

No, Jim didn't care about Spock that way. But Spock was all he had left.

Although it wasn't like they'd done anything about _that_ , either. Spock was being...very Vulcan, stand-offish and oh-so-logical and sorry-Jim-no-sex-tonight-gotta-meditate.

Jim pushed himself up from the desk with a sigh. He remembered Bones had waited two months to approach Spock after the Spock-Uhura breakup. And _that_ had been amicable and quiet and completely civilized.

So he figured he could give Spock a few days before jumping him. But he would---jump him, that is.

Because Bones was gone, and for better or worse, Spock was _his_.

=============

_Vulcan's hot winds and the rumblings of the planet's death throes raged around Spock as he stood upon an outcropping of stone. He flinched as he recognized the dreamscape as the site of his failure to save his mother's life. But it was not her lithe figure that stood before him. Instead, Leonard had somehow taken Mother's place. Eyes dark with sorrow regarded Spock as the dust-filled gusts rippled Leonard's hair and molded his uniform to his body. Spock froze, unable to even reach out as the ground crumbled beneath Leonard's feet and Leonard fell..._

He was two steps away from his bunk before awareness reached him. Spock stood in the center of his bedroom, breath heaving as his heart hammered within his abdomen. The rate far higher than normal, as was his blood pressure and no doubt his adrenaline levels.

A muster of will forced his breath and body to calm. Sweat was an unfamiliar discomfort, slicking the creases of his body and making his sleepwear cling to his frame.

With a shake of the head, Spock stripped and discarded his garments into the laundry chute and stepped into the sonic shower. Perhaps he should resume sleeping nude, as he had done since Leonard and he had begun sharing quarters. But somehow the coolness of the sheets were heightened, the few times he had tried.

Though it made no sense---Leonard's body temperature was lower than Spock's, so it could not be said he kept Spock _warm_ \---Spock had found himself unable to achieve a comfortable cabin environment since Leonard's departure.

He briskly finished his cleanup and donned a meditation robe. The firepot sat ready for lighting, his mat rolled up easy to hand.

Spock reached for neither. The peace of logic and contemplation had eluded him this last week, despite hours merely observing the progression of his thoughts.

It seemed his dreams, as well, had come to reflect his mental disquiet.

On some level, Spock could admit bafflement. There should be no cause for such mental disruption. The dignitaries were comfortably settled and anticipating Enterprise's arrival at the meeting place. Doctor Caine had proven a competent physician, and the medical staff had made a smooth transition to her authority as CMO.

Spock had not, as yet, taken any action regarding his relationship with Jim. That was due to lack of time, but also to this continuing anomaly within Spock's psyche. He preferred to have his thoughts in order before beginning this next phase of his life. This was simply logical. As was the assumption that the next phase would, in due time, begin. For this had been Spock's choice.

He had chosen Jim, not once but twice. First in their sexual liaison that night in Jim's cabin; and again the next day, when Leonard had asked his question. The answer, like Spock's acquiescence to fornicating with Jim the night before, had occurred without Spock's usual decision-making process. As Leonard had said, logic had been "thrown out the airlock".

Thus, the source of Spock's unease _should_ be the establishment of parameters in his future relationship with Jim, not the ending of his previous relationship with Leonard.

For he had integrated Leonard's refusal of continued involvement into the gestalt of his awareness. Spock had considered his own actions; the reasoning (or lack thereof) behind them; cataloged the consequences. These were all facts, and facts were meant to be assimilated and dismissed, not lingered upon. Obsessive recollection of unchangeable events was a human foible that he had long avoided.

So there was no logic in this dream, in placing the departure of Leonard within the context of his mother's death. The losses were not comparable in scope, for Leonard still lived.

Although Spock could not deny that he often wished his mother had survived. That he could speak with her, feel her un-Vulcan embrace. Look into her dark eyes so bright with emotion---with joy of life and love of him. It was a truth no logic could dispel, and it dwelled as a faint but unrelenting murmur beneath the order of his thoughts. Like the susurration of Vulcan's winds, never dying to quiet.

But he could not shake the suspicion that at this moment, she would not be quite so proud of her son.

With a sigh, Spock sat before his desk and switched on the lamp. Regarded the piles of papyrus arranged there. He had crafted a framework on which to lay the pieces, to try to determine the original configuration of the multitude of scraps. Although his duties during this diplomatic mission had not afforded him much time for this endeavor, he had separated end pieces from center ones.

Working within the golden glow of the lamp, he began to set the corners of the document in place.


	7. Chapter 7

McCoy settled on a wrought-iron bench halfway down the sidewalk, the sun playing peek-a-boo through the leaves of a stately oak beside it. He lifted a cup of coffee to his face, inhaling the aroma before taking that first sip. The hint of chicory bitterness mellowed under the richness of the milk.

It tasted like home.

Which was just as well, for this street of chic shops in the Westside section of Atlanta didn't look like the Georgia he knew. The buildings so polished and stylish, declaring their fashionable pedigrees with every brick, strip of chrome and transparent-aluminum window.

Humans of every stripe and a few aliens strolled in the morning sun, perusing an array of goods that made his head spin. His gaze automatically slid away from certain couples, their heads tucked close together, shoulders brushing, fingers entwined.

He _felt_ like a junebug invited to a butterfly's tea party, but actually didn't look out of place. He'd _dressed_ , in pressed trousers and a light shirt. His shoes polished, freshly beard-suppressed, and hair neatly combed. Couldn't tell if it was 'cause he could still hear his father saying, "You visit a lady, you dress like a _gentleman_ , Len my boy" or because it'd been five years and despite everything that'd happened he wasn't all that shabby a catch, damn it.

A woman---a study in red, from her sleek chignon through her tailored dress to her stylish but low-heeled shoes---trotted up to the door he'd been keeping his eye on since he'd arrived in the neighborhood. She tapped one foot as she was scanned and the frosted glass door slid open. She dashed inside. A moment later "Jocelyn Benoit Designs" shimmered a little more brightly in the main window, elegant lettering etched in gold.

"Leonard?"

McCoy nearly spit out his current swallow of coffee. Turned toward a voice he knew, all too well. He was on his feet before he knew it, his arms full of tailored green silk, slender curves and the scent of jasmine.

He held his coffee far away with one hand, while the other fumbled awkward pats against Jocelyn's back. He did _not_ duck his head to rest his cheek on the bark-brown waves of her hair. Tried swallowing a few times, but it didn't unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth.

"Tiger," she sighed into his chest, grip tight around his ribs.

In that moment he was six years old on the first day of school. Scowling because yes, his name was Leo and he _knew_ it meant lion but that didn't mean he wanted to _be_ a lion in the pretend zoo and the idea was stupid, the teacher was stupid and the school was stupid---and then a voice piped up saying of course he shouldn't be a _lion_ because he was way too fierce and he should be a _tiger_. He turned to see a girl with big brown eyes and pigtails and he fell a little bit in love with her right then, before he even knew her name. _Jocelyn_.

Suddenly McCoy could breathe again, as Jocelyn stepped back, her hands rising up to clasp his face. "Jocelyn," he managed, acutely aware of the places where their skin met, muscles of his jaw shifting under her touch. He could see the start of faint lines on her face, around her eyes and beside her mouth. Wondered if joy or grief had made them.

She was staring back, a kind of wonder keeping her eyebrows lifted and her eyes wide. "I thought I'd never see you again. I can't believe you're here."

"I can't believe I'm here, either. Call it a case of temporary insanity." One side of his mouth quirked up as her hands slid away. He shrugged. "Had a few days' leave and thought I'd...drop by."

Jocelyn smiled, a slow, shy bloom across her face. "I'm glad you did." She glanced over at her building, then turned back, her hand coming out to grip at his forearm, tugging at his sleeve. "Listen, give me a few minutes to talk to my staff---rearrange a few things. Then we can talk."

McCoy could only nod.

"Stay right here." Jocelyn's gaze sharpened. "Promise, Tiger?"

He nodded again, still a little dazed as he watched her cross the street as he took a last sip of coffee. The swing of her stride and bounce of her hair somehow blended with the sharp bite of chicory on his tongue.

==================

When Jocelyn tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, McCoy thought of his wedding day. Walking with his bride through the crowd of friends and family, smile so wide. Back when he still believed in happily ever after.

He glanced over as Jocelyn led them around the corner. "Where're we headin'?"

"Never you mind," she replied with a flash of brown eyes. "We'll be there soon enough."

Her chin tilted even as she kept facing forward. "So, you're still with Starfleet?"

"Yeah---who'd've believed it?" McCoy shook his head. "I can even ride in the window seat of a shuttle without throwin' up, most days."

"It's strange, the way things work out," Jocelyn mused. "How many times growing up you told us you were going to get your degree and move back home, be an old country doctor. And how many times did Peter say that someday he was just going to take off, see all that the universe had to see."

She sighed. "Yet here you are, gallivanting about the stars, while Pete and I...we're right where we started."

McCoy snorted. "Not quite where you started." The buildings on this block were red-brick respectability, discreet signs announcing the lawyers and doctors and financial consultants that dwelled within.

"You know what I mean." Jocelyn brought her other hand over to give him a sharp smack on the arm.

"Yeah." They went a few steps in silence. McCoy straightened his shoulders, forced himself to start. "According to the addresses in the computer, you and Pete are living together."

"Yes." Jocelyn slid him a wary glance under delicately arched brows.

"So...why aren't you two hitched?" The question was one of many that'd been churning at the back of his mind since he'd looked up Jocelyn and Peter. In a way he'd been grateful for the distraction. Thinking on the last time his life had gone to hell kept him from obsessing on everything that had happened on Enterprise. _Spock..._

She pulled him to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk. Turned to face him, her mouth stretched into a rueful curve that couldn't quite be called a smile. "You came back just to ask me that? Why are you really here, Len?"

McCoy went absolutely still. "I want---I want to know what happened. With us."

"You never did ask the easy ones." Jocelyn tugged him over to an old stone fountain in somebody's front yard.

She let him go as she lowered herself onto the bench-high edge, arranged her legs to one side. She looked away. "What does it matter, after all this time?"

"Just---it just does, OK?" McCoy found himself bristling, tried to settle himself back down with a long breath. "Please, Jocelyn. I think you owe me that much."

She nodded, focused on her lap. One hand began restlessly pleating the silk of her dress, over and over. Somehow in rhythm with the splash of the water behind them. "I don't even know where to begin."

"When'd it start, you and Pete?" McCoy stared at her, her face so tense and pale against the deep green leaves of a nearby magnolia. He'd been happy with her, once upon a time. Thought she'd been, too. "Before we married?"

"God, no." Her head whipped around so fast her hair kept going, sweeping against her jaw. "Is that what you thought?"

"I didn't know what to think." McCoy sighed. "At the time, I didn't think at all."

Jocelyn reached out, laid a hand on his knee. "Tiger, please believe me. I loved you. For the longest time, it was just you. We...we had some good years, some good times."

"Yeah, we did." He brought his hand down, rested it over hers. The back of her hand was cool and soft, the bones so delicate.

"Then your dad got sick." Jocelyn got up, crossed her arms as she stepped onto the neatly clipped grass. "You were gone all the time. And I understood, really I did."

Her gaze slid away, to the sun on the water. "Peter would stop by. We'd talk---about anything and everything---you know, how it always was with us. And one day..."

Jocelyn looked at McCoy then, something bold and bare in her face. "One day I realized that I was waiting for _him_ to come home, not you. That was the first time I kissed him."

"But not the last." McCoy took a breath, wasn't sure if he'd actually _been_ breathing all the time she talked.

"No, not the last." Jocelyn chewed at her lip a moment, seemed to be making decisions she wasn't sharing. Then she sat back next to him, their knees bumping. "Len, what happened between Peter and me...you were going to get hurt, no matter how it went down. But you were going through so much with your dad...we wanted to wait to tell you, until after..."

"Until after he died." He'd been so strung out back then, so many sleepless days and nights working to find a cure. Knowing that every second spent at home was time wasted, time that his father didn't have. And then that horrible, horrible day when he finally gave in to his father's pleas for an end to the pain...

McCoy looked at his hands, turned them palm up. Some days he still couldn't believe he'd done it. Killed his own father. When he'd walked out of the hospital...all he'd wanted was to go home, to find Jocelyn, bury his head against her shoulder and hide from what he'd done. But she wasn't alone. "I guess I went and spoiled your plans."

Jocelyn placed her fingers under his chin, lifted his head until their eyes met. "Len, there's a lot I regret, about all of it. We should've been honest with you---we should've been there for you."

She let her hand drop. "I went to your dad's funeral, you know. Not that you would've seen me---wanted to see me. I hid behind a tree like a scared kid."

Her voice dropped to a whisper. "You looked so alone. Even with your family around you...so alone."

"Because I _was_ alone," McCoy snarled. Anger leaked from his core in an acid stream. But for what happened years ago, or days ago? His fists clenched and he launched himself off the stone. "God, Jocelyn, what d'you think it was like? Peter..."

He choked, remembering Peter's blood on his hands. The way he'd held Peter up by the collar, the slam of his knuckles on flesh and bone. "With you and Peter gone God knew where, cops and lawyers and questions I couldn't answer, didn't want to answer. I barely had a moment to _breathe_ , much less think or talk to anyone."

McCoy laughed, but it was a sound that twisted and hurt. "And then in the middle of it all I get served with divorce papers. By a sleazy little lawyer tellin' me I'd better sign or I'd end up in jail on an assault charge. So you cheated on me, and still got damn near _everything_ and _everyone_ , because I was the fucked-up shit of a husband who offed his dad and beat on his best friend and who knew, maybe I'd taken a swing at you, too."

"Stop it!" Jocelyn was in his face now, red flush along her cheekbones as she grabbed at him, fists twisting into his shirt. "Just stop it. Please. Please, Tiger, please."

She collapsed against his chest and before McCoy knew it, his arms were wrapped around her and his face was pressed against her hair. Jasmine, the scent of jasmine that had been in the air and on his pillow and against his skin for so many years. _Jocelyn_.

He shuddered, exhaled a breath that sounded way too much like defeat.

=============

"I'm so sorry." Jocelyn's whisper seemed to brush along his nerves. "I'm sorry, for all of it. I'm sorry."

McCoy lifted his head, stepped back. Let his arms slide free. "Me, too."

Jocelyn straightened, swiped a finger under her nose. For just a second channeling the tomboy who'd climbed trees and dug holes alongside Peter and him, getting just as dirty and caring even less.

"You scared me that day, Len. You scared the hell out of me." She drifted back to the fountain, sank onto it. "I'll admit I called that lawyer. It was either him or the police. I just wanted to feel safe---to know Peter and I were safe."

She ducked her head, studied her hands as they twisted in her lap. "It was easier to pretend you were some kind of ogre than to admit that I was a...a fallen woman. Easier to hate you for hurting Peter than hate ourselves, for how much we hurt you."

Jocelyn startled McCoy with a laugh. "You asked me why Peter and I aren't married." She looked up at him, and there was more in her eyes than McCoy could read. "I'll tell you. Things went so bad between you and me---so bad, so fast. I don't...I don't want to live through anything like that again. _Ever_."

She stood up, walked over and took his arm again. And with each step she became the polished, professional woman he'd first seen on the sidewalk. "So now you know."

So he did. He drifted in her wake as she led them along a path around the fountain to the door of what turned out to be a financial management firm. "What's here?" _Not Peter, unless he's completely changed careers..._

Jocelyn stopped with a hand on the doorknob. "Some forms to sign so you can access an account that was set up in your name five years ago. We---it took a while for me to realize just how little my lawyer left you with."

She looked down, a blush climbing up her face. "I didn't, couldn't contact you, even after I knew where you were. So Peter and I set this up for you, in case you ever came back. I set aside half the assets from when we were together...and everything that you would have inherited from your dad."

Something hard and painful lodged in McCoy's throat. He swallowed it down. "I don't---I don't know that I can---"

"Please, Tiger." Jocelyn reached out, brushed the backs of her fingers down his cheek. "I know it won't make up for anything. Not at all. But please, let me do this for you. For all of us."

McCoy captured her hand in his. Pressed a kiss to her knuckles before releasing her with a nod.

=========

McCoy settled onto the porch steps of an inn on the outskirts of Atlanta, his back braced against a post. He chuckled at the way his genteel, gray-haired hostess had shooed him out the door with his "after dinner treat".

He set the tall, cold glass down on the smooth wood of the top step. Couldn't bring himself to sit on the porch swing, inviting as it looked. Not when he'd dreamed of lazy evenings wrapped up with Spock on a porch just like this one, the scents of honeysuckle and sweetshrub thick in the air.

The first stars were peeping out as twilight deepened. Jocelyn had suggested this place---he'd come out of his daze long enough on Enterprise to cancel his original reservations.

He was more grateful than he could say that she didn't prolong things. After they were done with the forms, she'd claimed her "business didn't run itself" and skittered off, leaving him to find his way out of town on his own.

It was an easy choice to spend the rest of the day wandering, not thinking of much besides making it to the inn by dinnertime.

The three-story, white clapboard house with its sweeping veranda and vine-wrapped trellis reminded him of growing up. Running through a tree-lined neighborhood a lot like this one with other kids his age...fishing in the creek, trying to catch lightning bugs and butterflies in the park.

He could almost feel the flutter of wings against his cupped fingers. He always set them free---his mama had never liked "Mason jars full of critters" in the house. Even after she'd passed on, he would never go against her wishes.

McCoy sighed and reached for his glass. He raised it to his lips, fumbling for a moment to find the straw. The chocolate-and-peanut-butter milkshake slipped cool and creamy over his tongue and down his throat.

"What the hell're you drinkin', Len?"

It said something---about McCoy or Peter, the years they'd spent practically joined at the hip or the years they'd lived apart---that McCoy just swallowed and handed up the glass. "This divine concoction, I'm told by my 'authentic' Georgia hostess, is an 'authentic' Georgia milkshake."

He studied Peter as his old friend--- _ex-friend_ \---took a swig. Even in the fading light, he could see the differences five years had wrought. Hints of silver in Peter's hair and beard. Face had thinned some, the bones more prominent, the nose looking a little larger. Lines that hadn't been there before cast shallow slashes around Peter's eyes, across his brow. Some of it from time, no doubt...but some of it maybe due to that long-ago pounding by McCoy's fists. "You look well."

Peter finished swallowing and gave back the glass, swiping a hand across his mouth. "Well enough."

He sprawled down the steps across from McCoy, leaning his weight on a bent elbow. "I could hardly believe it when Jocelyn said you were back."

With a faint frown he looked away, out across the sidewalk to the wrought-iron gates fronting the park across the street. "Seems a little late. Those first few weeks, after...I kept waitin' for you to come blazin' down on us again like Judgment Day."

McCoy snorted. "Almost sounds like you were lookin' forward to Round 2 of the beat-down." Sitting with Peter after five years and so much heartache, he felt...too much, and not enough. Everything muted into backwash: anger, betrayal, bitterness. Sorrow, the loss of Dad and Peter and Jocelyn all bound up together. And strange enough, relief...a sense of something finally settling into place, so far down the line from where they'd been.

"Maybe. Maybe I hoped if you hit me hard enough and long enough you'd pound the guilt right out of me." Peter turned his head, eyes catching the glow of lamplight coming through lace curtains. "But you just...left."

"Jocelyn told me that I'd scared her. Truth was, I scared myself." McCoy looked down at his hands, fiddled with the straw. "Got scared about what I'd done to you, what I'd done to Dad---all I could think was to get away. So I turned tail and ran." He took a hasty sip to cover his flush.

"Ran off all the way to Starfleet." Peter tilted his head back. "What's it like, up there?"

McCoy barked a short laugh. "If you'd asked me that five years ago, I'd've told you 'nothing good'---a vast, cold blackness without the smallest streak of mercy in it."

"And now?" Peter's question came with the flick of his eyes over McCoy's face.

"Now..." What to say? McCoy sighed at the ache of memories of what he'd gained, and lost, among the stars. "All that still, but with...with glimmers of warmth and light shining, and friends who'll drag you out and guide you home."

Peter spoke almost as quiet as the breeze. "Sounds like you made quite a life for yourself."

"Didn't have much choice." McCoy set the glass down. He dropped his head back against the post. "You didn't leave me much choice."

"No, I guess we didn't--- _I_ didn't." Peter's legs drew up as he hunched over them, wrapping his arms around his knees like he did so many evenings on his parents' porch, on McCoy's...

After a moment, Peter shrugged. "We all get on, don't we, sooner or later? Meet new people, make new friends. But it's not the same. Nobody else has ever been what you and Joss and I were back then. Don't think anyone could be. And even with you back...it won't ever be like it was, Len, will it?"

"Can't be." It was the God's honest truth, and McCoy'd never been much of a liar.

"Shouldn't be. Jocelyn and I crossed a line knowin' it was there and knowin' what it'd do...to you, to us." Peter shook his head. "I can't even say I'd do different---not if it meant never havin' Jocelyn."

"She meant that much to you?" _More than me?_ McCoy closed his eyes a moment, breathed deep. This was a hurt years gone---not days fresh, a raw and ragged wound on his soul. He'd best remember that.

"I loved her long before you, Len." Peter launched himself onto the walk with a creak of wood and a shush of gravel. He faced McCoy. "I loved her, but I was too chicken shit to say anything. And then it was too damn late. You two were sparkin' and courtin' and you didn't need a lamp with the glow you put out lookin' at each other. So I put that all aside. I was _happy_ for you."

He ran a hand through his hair. "But things changed, when your dad took ill. I was with her all the time. And I knew I loved her just the same as I always did. And when she...when she said she loved _me_ \---"

McCoy found himself on his feet and gripping Peter's arm, other hand reaching up to snatch at the back of his head, holding their faces close together. "So you were just bidin' your time 'til you got your chance?"

For just one moment rage spurted up black and thick. He saw Jim's face in front of him---the smirk and the shrug and the "fuck the universe" attitude that may have pulled Enterprise through two dozen scrapes---but also caused more than half of 'em in the first place. His fingers clenched.

"Len!" Peter tried to wrench himself away.

At the shout McCoy jerked back, setting Peter free and putting space between them. The pounding of his heart now part fear for how close to the edge he'd been walking without even knowing it. Or admitting it. "Fuck."

Spent adrenaline set him shaking. He stumbled back to the steps, sagged onto them and buried his face in his hands.

McCoy felt more than heard Peter sit beside him. Shivered at the sudden warmth.

Peter's arm crept around his shoulders, slow and careful. "Len...this ain't all about Jocelyn and me, is it?"

"Yeah, Pete, I guess you could say that." McCoy dropped his hands, let them dangle as he braced his elbows on his thighs. He stared at the pattern of humps and scrapes they'd made in the gravel of the walk.

It was a moment before he could bring himself to speak. "It took me a good long while, to get over all that happened. To admit that maybe I'd earned my own share of the blame I'd been dumpin' on the both of you. And then---then some time after that I started thinkin' about someone as more than a friend." _Spock_... McCoy's breath shuddered in, out.

"It was a new place, a new life for me, y'know? A second chance. So I took it." He closed his eyes. "This time, I did everything right---or I thought I did. And my life went all to hell, just the same."

"What happened?" Peter shifted closer.

McCoy let it happen, let himself lean in just a little. Remembered being eight years old, with burning eyes and sobs locked in his throat as his mama died. And how Peter rocked with him on the front porch, just rocked and rocked until the dawn. Whispering words that McCoy never remembered, but took to heart all the same.

He didn't know where to start, didn't know if he could. Tried to swallow it back down and pretend he wasn't still ripped up inside, still bleeding in a slow steady trickle. "Let's just say I've got to get better at pickin' lovers or pickin' friends. Maybe both."

"Shit, Len." Peter pressed his forehead to McCoy's temple, brought his other arm around like he was trying to keep McCoy warm. Or whole.

So they sat, wrapped up together as the night settled in around them.


	8. Chapter 8

Uhura set her tray at the only empty place at the six-person table, next to Sulu and across from Gaila. She could hear Scotty chattering to Keenser on her other side.

Chekov looked up from his place across from Sulu. His forehead creased as he suddenly sighed. "I vish Doctor McCoy vas still here."

Uhura dropped into her seat. She found herself sharing a startled, guilty glance with Gaila. Seemed Uhura wasn't the only one who _knew_. But she kept silent, her hands curling around her mug of coffee.

Sulu snickered. "Why, you catch somethin' that you don't want to talk about with our lady doc?"

The tips of Chekov's ears reddened, and he hunched his shoulders. " _Nyet_." After a moment he straightened and pushed his tray forward enough to lean an elbow on the table. Rested his chin in his hand. "It is just...it is wery boring on the bridge, _da_? And the doctor, he vould wisit. Talk vith the keptin, argue vith Mister Spock. It vould break up the day."

Uhura found her lips curling slightly as she recalled some of the more animated "discussions" between the CMO and the CSO. Their conversations sometimes went over her head, science-wise, but she enjoyed listening to McCoy and Spock. Fiery passion vs. cool logic, sarcastic one-liners vs. deadpan put-downs, brilliant mind versus brilliant mind so very different yet somehow so alike---it was quite a show.

One that she knew made the bridge crew glad they had front-row seats.

"Ye'll no' see that on most ships, laddie." Scotty waved the hand holding his mug and everyone leaned away in instinctive self-defense. "The medicos stay in Sickbay, not goin' about on a stroll and poppin' up top to say Hi to the captain and crew."

"Well, Chekov's right about things being quiet on the bridge," Sulu said with a nod. He glanced around before leaning in to murmur, "I'm so sick of just hanging in orbit, I'm looking forward to Mister Spock's battle drills and efficiency tests."

Gaila shook her head. "You must really be desperate. It's not so bad in Engineering. We're running system-wide checks so we'll know just what to fix when we get back to Earth for the refits."

"Aye, we're gettin' our fine lass ready for her tune-up." Scotty looked around with a fond smile. He patted the table--- _pet it_ \---without any sense of embarrassment whatsoever.

"Yeah," Keenser echoed in a voice like the scrape of stone on stone.

Uhura met his pure black eyes with a smile and nod. Although Keenser didn't speak much Standard, he was eloquent, poetic even, in his native tongue. Uhura enjoyed meeting him occasionally for a drink and conversation.

She did that with most of the non-Terrans aboard. It gave them a chance to hear and speak their own languages, and her the opportunity to keep her skills sharp. She also hoped it made them feel less lonely on a ship full of Earthers.

Spock had been the first. Even after they'd parted ways, Uhura still met with him in the rec room or observation lounge, or one of their quarters. Two friends sharing spice tea and the events of their lives. But not lately; not since...

Uhura glanced around the room. Kirk was holding court at a table full of diplomats, arms waving and smirk in full force as he spun some wild yarn. But she didn't see... "Where's Spock?"

She held back a snicker as five heads swiveled. But there was no sign of their resident Vulcan.

Sulu shrugged. "Maybe he escaped to the labs. I know I'd be hiding in a Vandorel prickle bush if those ambassadors were chasing _me_ over half the ship."

Uhura hid her wince by taking a sip of coffee. Spock was _very_ popular with the envoy they'd ferried to treaty negotiations so hush-hush no one knew what they were about. She figured some of it was genuine sympathy over the loss of one of the founding planets of the Federation---but part of it was also the diplomats taking advantage of having a pointed ear to bend.

With so few Vulcans left, it was logical for them to focus on rebuilding their civilization. But it left them little time for bothering with the universe at large.

Spock---both Spocks, actually---were concerned that Federation diplomacy was suffering from the absence of Vulcan logic. But there was little they could do until New Vulcan was self-sufficient and the inhabitants willing to turn their attention outward once more.

"Well if he is, good luck to 'im." Scotty tilted his head back to empty his mug, then stood. "I've a mind to let 'im know we could use a bit o' help in Engineering. None o' the higher-ups have come around since my tour."

Gaila flashed a grin around the table. "They didn't like the idea of really getting to _know_ Enterprise---by crawling through her Jeffries tubes."

Uhura laughed, but didn't get up with the others. She picked up her spoon and dug into her oatmeal.

Gaila didn't leave, either. She poked her head into Uhura's view. "Do you think something is wrong with Mister Spock?"

"I wish I knew." Uhura meant it. She wished he would talk to her. She wanted to understand what had happened, what Spock was thinking. All she had to go on was Leonard's version of the break-up. Her anger on his behalf battled with her loyalty to her friend/ex-lover.

Gaila's brows drew together. "It's odd. Doctor Bones said he left because Mister Spock and Jim were having sex. But since then neither of them has spent time in the cabin of the other." She shook her head. "I find it all very confusing."

Uhura's brows rose at the tidbit. Then she shrugged. "They haven't exactly had personal time the last few weeks. Those diplomats are running them pretty ragged." Her, too. They kept testing her on her translations, insisting that the smallest error could result in a catastrophe of galactic proportions.

In a way, she was grateful for their interference. She hadn't been bored on the trip to the rendezvous. Plus she would probably be included in the treaty negotiations---then she'd _finally_ learn what this was all about.

She did know security was tight---the bridge crew weren't the only ones going through emergency drills.

"Does it bother you?" Gaila asked, then bit her lip as she dropped her eyes.

Uhura tilted her head, spoon poised halfway to her mouth. "Does what bother me?"

"That Mister Spock has---is---" Gaila lifted her shoulders and waved her hands. "With Jim? I mean, you seemed OK about Doctor Bones, but Jim was always chasing _you_..."

Uhura took a bite of oatmeal, chewing on the question as much as the cooked grains. She actually didn't mind the question. Gaila had always loved gossip, but the Orion had been quiet for such a long time after being found adrift in a lifepod after the destruction of half the fleet at Vulcan.

Uhura hadn't considered Gaila "over it" until Gaila started butting into other people's business again. No, she'd never mind Gaila's questions. Not ever again. She swallowed down a lump along with the oatmeal. "I'm not sure," Uhura finally answered.

Her lips twisted. "I mean, Spock and I, we were done before Leonard and Spock got together. And you remember, I wasn't really upset about that. They...in a way I actually thought they made sense."

"Yes, you said something about Doctor Bones and Spock being---being two coconuts?---that could knock their hard heads together," Gaila said with a nod as she stuck her own spoon into Uhura's bowl.

"Exactly---one is as stubborn as the other is relentless." Plus Leonard hadn't known Spock at the Academy. Uhura had always sensed that something of the student/teacher dynamic had lingered between Spock and her, even after they moved to Enterprise. It was one of the reasons their relationship had failed.

Leonard was about the only one she'd ever seen who could kick Spock's tush and get away with it---metaphorically speaking, anyway. Uhura sighed. McCoy grumbled and fussed at everyone on board, but his caring always came through. He'd been good for Spock---they'd been good for each other.

But Spock and Jim... Uhura looked over at the man she called captain and friend. He was smart and funny, smug and always so sure of himself. Could he be what Spock needed---did he even _want_ to be? She could only hope so, for both their sakes. Uhura spoke to herself as much as Gaila. "I just don't know."

============

Spock's steps measured a rectangular path between his bunk and the door to his cabin. He kept an even, sedate pace, his hands clasped behind his back.

His eyes focused on imperfections in the plain gray nap of his carpeting. The subtle anomalies in the color and texture had become familiar to him over the weeks since Leonard had departed. Spock walked, every night, when his dreams disturbed his rest. _The_ dream.

He always kept his eyes down. He did _not_ look at his desk. The papyrus and the frame with its few identified fragments still sat there. Untouched, and at the moment cloaked by a square of red silk left over from the fabric he'd used to adorn the walls of his sleeping area.

Although it was illogical in the extreme, he could not bring himself to continue his work on the project. His physical reaction to handling the simple scraps was...unnerving. A visceral twist in his core accompanied the very thought of restoring enough fragments to determine the nature of the message written upon them.

Spock could not explain his state of being, only acknowledge it. And speculate on whether the constant sight of the shredded papyrus had imprinted upon his subconscious to produce his disjointed sleep.

The ring of the chime did not bring _relief_ , as such, but Spock noted a decrease in muscle tension as he swiftly moved to his desk and sat. "Enter."

Doctor M'Benga's limbs as he stepped across the threshold were somewhat...jittery. Quite unlike his usual smooth strides. He stopped just inside the door and held a padd before him like it was an offering. "I hope I'm not late, Commander."

He was---one point two-five minutes, to be exact. But informing the doctor of same would not be conducive to further conversation. Spock indicated the seat on the other side of the desk with a tilt of his head. "I thank you for accommodating this change of venue, Doctor."

"No, uh, I mean, not at all, no problem. I like house calls." M'Benga plopped into the seat. "I'm honored you chose me to consult with."

"It is true that Doctor Caine has more than a decade greater experience, but you had made a special study of Vulcans and our healing practices." Spock lifted a brow. "You are the logical choice."

Strangely, the statement of fact seemed to infuse the doctor with calm. He straightened in his chair with a nod. After a moment he consulted his padd. "I've confirmed the results of your neurological scans."

M'Benga set an elbow on the desk. "Endocrine levels and brain chemistry indicate fatigue, which is to be expected. But that's it."

He looked up. "I mean, you didn't go into any details about what's waking you up, but there doesn't seem to be a physical imbalance or disruption that would account for your experiences."

Spock could not prevent a slight downturn of his mouth. He steepled his fingers before him. "Are you absolutely certain of your findings?"

"Oh, yeah. Ran 'em twice---knew you'd ask." M'Benga's grin flashed and faded into his own frown. "But that doesn't help you much, does it?"

"No, Doctor, it does not." Spock checked the urge to rise and pace once more. "Do you have any suggestion as to an alternative line of inquiry?"

"I don't suppose you'd like to come clean about what's going on during your sleep, dream, whatever, huh?" M'Benga waited fourteen seconds, then sighed. "Thought not. So...um, yeah, actually, I do."

The doctor raised one hand to slide along his naked scalp. "I figure it's got to be something recurring, a dream or more likely a nightmare. You sure aren't the only one who's had sleepless nights on this ship. Anyway, I could---if you'd be willing to allow it, of course---we could do a guided meditation. I mean, it might let you get control of whatever it is that's waking you up---a kind of lucid dreaming."

Now Spock did stand. He stepped around his desk into the open space he'd paced so often. He logically dissected the doctor's suggestion. It held merit, though he was forced to admit that he would consider the "treatment" even if it had been completely illogical. _Something_ must be done. He had no inclination to see Leonard fall off the cliff, night after night...to be himself held back, straining against an unknown binding to reach Leonard before the rock crumbled away...

He lifted his head. "When can we implement this plan of action?"

M'Benga's raised brows signaled surprise, quickly masked. "Right now, if you'd like."

"Very well." Spock stepped into his sleeping area. He sat and removed his boots, then slid onto his bunk. He folded his hands over his abdomen and closed his eyes. "You may proceed."

He heard M'Benga clear his throat, then the dragging of the doctor's chair closer to the partition dividing the cabin.

"OK. Let's start with you doing your regular setup for meditation. Don't go too deep; just enough to get everything calmed down and you relaxed."

Spock was tempted to point out that by training Vulcans _were_ calm, or more precisely stoic. But again he chose to eschew that discussion as tangential and thus unproductive.

It took him some moments to achieve the requested state, but eventually he felt himself slip into a light meditation. "Continue."

"All right. Now I'd like you to visualize a viewscreen---a big one, like the one on the bridge. What you're going to do is project your dream onto it. So you're not gonna be completely _in_ the dream, OK? You'll be watching it. And it's like a recording: you can pause, rewind, change the angle. You've got total control."

"Must I recount the images as they appear?" Spock would prefer not to do so.

"Nah, it's your private business." M'Benga's chair creaked as he shifted. "But maybe you could give me a heads-up if you have any difficulties."

"Agreed. I shall begin." Spock inhaled, and with the exhale brought the dream into his consciousness. He felt the heat of Vulcan, tasted the desert wind. Stared at Leonard, watched as the edge of the promontory crumbled behind. A meter away, half...Spock strained to reach out, but was held back. "Stop!"

As he blinked at the ceiling he realized that his heart rate and breathing had accelerated. He glanced at M'Benga, who was sitting forward, elbows braced on knees.

Spock had to regulate his breathing before he could explain. "I experienced a...a type of binding. It kept---keeps---me from taking proper action in response to the scenario."

M'Benga's brow furrowed, but after a moment his face cleared. "OK. Go back to the screen, and the images, right where you stopped it. Got it?"

Spock closed his eyes once more. Reminded himself that _this was just a dream_. And he had already lived through a much harsher reality. "Affirmative."

"Now just keep it on pause. I want you to look around---look under you, above you, behind you---identify whatever it is that's holding you back."

Spock allowed himself a further moment to re-establish his mental equanimity and the dreamscape. He looked down, first, and saw nothing but his boots against the stone. Above him there was only the sky, filled with sand and grit blown about by the wind.

With a breath, he slowly turned, fighting an inertia that should not exist before the transporter beam claimed him. Every millimeter of rotation meant more of Leonard passed out of his range of vision. At first Spock only saw the view from the cliff, then the edge of the cave they'd fled. Some part of him expected to see his father's stern features and stiff carriage, but Sarek was nowhere in sight.

When Spock had completed one hundred and eighty degrees of his turn, he found himself staring at a gold surface that resolved itself into a command tunic. A chill deeper than the desert night shivered through him as he lifted his gaze.

Jim Kirk stared back at him.

=========

Jim was halfway into Bones' office when he remembered that it wasn't _Bones'_ office. He skidded to a stop as the door whooshed shut behind him. Wanted to slap himself upside the head for being so stupid. He _knew_ Bones was gone. Had been gone. Was still going to be gone. Some genius he was, showing up here on auto-pilot.

He couldn't even think of a single word to say that would keep him from looking like an idiot who _forgot_ his best friend had jumped ship. Instead he just stared at Doctor Caine, whose raised eyebrows managed to drawl, "So just _why_ are you standing in my office, Captain?" without her needing to utter a word.

Then she seemed to _get it_ \---through a kind of secret, doctor-patient osmosis. Her expression softened into something you'd see in a vid about a mom baking cookies and making lemonade for kids who were playing under the sprinklers outside. Kinda.

"You sure look like you could use a drink." She pointed a thumb over her shoulder. "I got the good stuff."

"Yeah, OK." Jim stumbled forward a few steps and dropped into a chair with a sigh. It had been a _long_ few weeks. "So, uh...how's it goin'?"

"Well enough." Caine watched him out of the corner of her eye as she set the tray on her desk, uncapped the brandy and poured two glasses. She handed one over and returned to her chair.

She gestured at the padds on her desk. "The place hasn't exactly been Excitement Central, so I've been rereading some of Len's old mission logs. Fun stuff."

Jim winced at the casual drop of Bones' name. He had a weird sense of displacement, a skewed kind of déjà vu: The taste of the brandy, the feel of the glass and his body sprawled in the chair, the room itself were all familiar. All associated with Bones, but Bones wasn't here.

It'd catch him sometimes, that sense of where Bones _wasn't_. Wasn't on the bridge, sauntering in to offer an opinion on anything and everything, maybe sticking around to banter with Spock. Wasn't in the rec room, commiserating with Scotty about being the "wise, old" thirtysomethings on a ship full of children. Wasn't in Sickbay, grumbling at whoever managed to get busted up on an away mission "because rattlin' around the universe in a tin can of a starship wasn't dangerous _enough_ ".

Wasn't snuggled on a couch with Spock, fingers entwined like the foreplay on a Vulcan porno. If _Vulcans_ made pornos, of course.

Wasn't in bed with Spock, Jim sandwiched between them they way it was _supposed_ to be...

"Wanna talk about it?" Caine tilted her head, rolled her glass between her palms.

Jim did and didn't. Didn't know what to talk about, really. Maybe how he was missing Bones and missing _Spock_ too, because Spock had managed to do his own vanishing act since they'd started on this mission.

Not that it was all Spock's fault, what with the diplomats following the poor guy around all the time like he was their own personal oracle. And Spock was coordinating the security details 'cause there were rumors that someone---maybe _a lot_ of someones---might be crashing the party.

Plus Spock was always into his science-tech-philosophy-meditation-whatever pastimes that made Jim's eyes bulge with boredom.

Not to mention Spock had been deliberately avoiding him. _Well, not really...or maybe, yeah, just a little._

He tossed back the brandy. He bent forward and dangled the empty glass between his knees, watching the light slide on the smooth surface. "Look, I don't know what Bones told you---"

"Nothing." Caine swiveled her chair to set her boots on the corner of the desk.

A regret that she always wore pants flashed through Jim's head. _Bet her legs were fine._ Then the word registered and his brows rose. "Nothing?"

"Well, other than mentioning his staff being the best in the biz and that your crew is severely allergic to Sickbay." Caine shrugged. "Guess he wanted me to see things for myself."

"Oh. OK, um, then maybe not..." Kirk sat up, reached for the bottle and poured himself more brandy. He stared down at it, trying to decide its exact shade of reddish-brown.

Caine's voice reminded him of the brandy, smooth and liquor-warm. "Don't want me to know or just don't want to tell?"

"Bit of both." If she'd already _known_ , if Bones had already done all the ranting and raving about Jim and Spock and the whole fuckup then _maybe_ he could've talked about it. But having to say the words, lay it all out---the what and the why and the how it all fell apart...

"OK." Caine didn't say anything else.

Jim closed his eyes. He sipped his brandy in the silence and let himself pretend all was well. Just for a little while.


	9. Chapter 9

McCoy let himself sink into Pike's surprisingly comfortable office couch as he set his padd on the coffee table. It was a classic case of hurry up and wait. He'd rushed through a bowl of soup and a shower to be on time for his appointment. But Pike was still absorbed in something on his desk monitor---he'd waved McCoy over to the couch and kept reading.

As he sank into the cushions, McCoy's eyes started to close---he shook himself awake. Maybe the couch was a little _too_ comfortable. Especially coming off twelve hours of surgery, putting a passel of cadets back together after some kind of engineering accident. _Damn fool kids always tryin' to show up the profs..._

A steaming mug appeared in his line of sight, a suspiciously herbal scent wafting from it. "Uh, thanks," McCoy said as he reached out with both hands. He cradled the warm ceramic a moment before taking a sip. "Chamomile tea?"

"I've read the reports on the incident." Pike settled at the other end of the couch with his own padd and mug. "I also heard from the head of Medical---you're caffeine-free for the next 24 hours. You were on-duty for damn near the same amount of time, getting pulled into the OR straight from clinic rounds. Why the hell didn't you cancel?"

McCoy thought a moment. "Y'know, that never even occurred to me." He scrubbed a hand through his still-damp hair. "I guess it's what I'm used to."

"Yeah, I can see how two years on Enterprise could put you on permanent red alert," Pike said with a small smile. "But you're back on Earth now. There were some close calls today, but the cadets are saved and the crisis is over. So, Doctor, you have new orders: As soon as we're done here, report to your bunk for some sack time. You're off-duty until tomorrow."

McCoy sat forward. "What about my---"

"Your classes and rounds are covered." Pike took a sip of his drink. "Don't worry: Your students won't go on a rampage 'cause you're out for a day."

Pike chuckled. "They're way too terrified---you've reached Brie-level of toughness right off the bat. It's like a perfect baton pass in a relay."

He shifted on the couch. "Did you know after your first 'pop quiz' they started calling you Doctor Doom to match her Brie-minator title? You've racked up a heck of a lot of rants on the student message board from cadets thinking the sub would take it easy on them."

That got McCoy's dander up. "Everything on those tests can be found in the assigned reading. It's not my fault if the whelps can't tell the difference between the common cold and Rigellian lung rot."

"Hey, I didn't say the _faculty_ had filed any complaints." Pike winked. "As far as the dean's concerned, med cadets _should_ spend their days quaking in their boots."

McCoy snorted.

Pike's gaze sharpened as he studied McCoy. After a few moments, he nodded to himself. "You're looking better."

"Getting there." McCoy didn't think his friend would believe it, but he could've told Pike not to worry. McCoy knew the drill. He'd been put through enough shit storms to learn the best way to survive: Draw a line and try to live on the other side of it.

That's what he was doing. He didn't go into hermit mode---try to drown himself in work or a bottle. Nah, that never did any good long-term. He taught his classes, did his rounds, worked on the mission scenarios. Started getting to know his students and fellow teachers, his colleagues at the hospital.

So he was doing better. But he couldn't help the hundred things that he thought of each day to share with Spock. Or the smart-aleck remarks that would likely make Jim snigger. Or the chats he missed with Uhura, Sulu, Gaila, Chekov, and Scotty---even Keenser. The discussions he wanted to have with Chapel, M'Benga, and the rest of the Sickbay staff.

And he still had a hard time sleeping. He would hunker down in bed and bury himself under a few extra blankets. But he would still get a chill. It probably wasn't physical at all but a yearning, for warm arms to hold him and quiet breaths in his ear. For that feeling of belonging. _Spock..._

All in all, it was easier to blame the thermostat.

"So..." McCoy set down his tea and picked up his padd. "What d'you think?"

Pike gave him the eye for a few more seconds before acknowledging the change of subject. He glanced down at his screen. "You really think it'll work?"

"Well, Brie was right that the setup you have right now just doesn't cut it." McCoy twisted a little more toward Pike, putting one knee on the couch. "The whatsits---dummies or robots or whatever you call 'em---that you use for these field tests wouldn't fool a toddler, much less your bright-eyed Academy wiz kids."

"Please, Doc, don't hold back." Pike didn't try to hide his smirk. "So you figure get a regular away team in a cave, split the med cadet off with a rockslide, and have them diagnose and treat the wounded via the comm link?"

"Exactly." McCoy relaxed. He could tell by the way Pike was nodding to himself that the admiral had already bought it. "You get some good actors in there and the medics'll be clawing at the walls tryin' to get at their patients. Plus you make the other folks actually play things out---report the robot's signs and symptoms, do the treatments on it. You'll get to find out who actually paid attention during the first-aid portion of their field training."

Pike moved his thumb on the padd to change the screen. "And it looks like that's the _easy_ mission. I can't wait to see how these kids try to figure out how to patch people up without weapons, provisions, or medkits."

He shook his head. " 'Doctor Doom' is right. Keep it up and you're gonna have _all_ the cadets quaking in their boots." The evil glint in Pike's eyes matched his pirate's grin.

Part of McCoy was shocked to find himself returning it.

==================

McCoy finished his warm-up and headed over to one of the training stands. He'd slept six hours and had a late lunch/early dinner, but now he was feeling restless and hoped working out at the Academy gym would settle him.

He'd always been physical. Growing up, all the kids in the neighborhood would be outside part of the day, regardless of the weather. Running, climbing trees, digging trenches for "excavations" when Peter was on his archaeology kick.

And after McCoy's mom died, his dad enrolled him in martial-arts classes to give him an outlet for his confusion, anger and sorrow. He'd stuck with it. Even gotten good enough that he'd breezed through the mandatory Academy self-defense courses in half the usual time.

So this was how he dealt with things. McCoy started a routine, imagining each target spot on the training stand had Jim's or Spock's face on it. Each blow landed with a precise amount of force: that snap-kick would send Jim's teeth down his throat, that roundhouse would split the skin over Spock's cheekbone.

He let the rage flood through him, rise and surge and crest as he delivered kicks, chops, and blocks as the training stand whirled and rocked under the assault.

But finally the anger ebbed and his movements slowed. He blinked and shook his bangs out of his eyes as he shifted to a clear space to do his cool-down routine.

That was when everything about losing Spock crashed in: grief and despair and helplessness and _anguish_. The stretches and breathwork formed a moving meditation. Reminded him of Spock on a mat in front of the firepot in the mornings or evenings, McCoy reading nearby or just watching him, sometimes joining him. Breathing together, _being_ together.

And now McCoy was alone.

It took a while, but even that receded into a fragile kind of peace, short-lived but necessary. With a final sigh, McCoy blinked himself back into awareness. He swiped his knuckles under his eyes, dashing away the "sweat" pooled under them.

He'd just gotten to his feet when he heard steps behind him.

"Excuse me, but are you Doctor Doom?"


	10. Chapter 10

Jim stabbed his fork at a beef cube, wincing at the scrape of tines against the plate. He flicked a glance at Spock. The shiver that went down Spock's spine made Jim want to do it again, deliberately. Anything to rattle that stoic Vulcan façade he'd seen for days---weeks. The one that had kept Jim at bay better than a phaser for far too long.

He shifted in his seat. Opened his mouth to say something---hell, _anything_ \---but instead just shoved in the bite and chewed.

This trip was not turning out like he'd expected. Hoped.

The diplomats had stopped hunting Spock through the corridors of the ship. But it hadn't been Jim's "captain's glare" that ran them off---that was down to Uhura. She'd pointed out that the negotiations were about to begin. And wouldn't it be a tad awkward if the Federation delegation looked to be hanging on every utterance of a mere Starfleet commander, even if he did happen to be Vulcan?

The diplomats had scattered like a pack of vultures done picking a corpse clean. Leaving Spock alone. _Finally_. Of course Jim had jumped right in, suggesting dinner in the Rec Room to "go over the final security details".

And they'd done that, yeah. With Jim poking at his beef stew and Spock calmly eating leaf after leaf of his salad. Kind of reminded Jim of cows he'd grown up with, all placid chewing and big brown eyes.

But they'd rehashed the plans and the ship's status reports. Now they just sat there, silent. Except for the echoes of Bones' voice in Jim's head.

If Bones were here, the doc and Spock would be going at it full tilt----debating philosophy/science/gossip/whatever topic of the day in their patented routine. Their conversations were, if not over Jim's head, definitely outside his sphere of interest. Yet somehow one of them---sometimes both of them---left Jim with openings to get in a dig at one that had the other raising his eyebrow.

He'd been entertained--- _included_. And it had all been so easy.

But now that it was just Spock and him, Jim couldn't seem to get past the awkward silence. Very awkward. Very silent. Their chess games had never had this shroud of doom hanging over them. They'd usually spent them exchanging bits of news about Enterprise. Spock with the dry and technical and Jim with the juicy and often illicit.

Jim was getting a lot less conversation these days, not just from Spock. Because Jim had no one left to bitch at or snark with. Over the years he'd worn a hole in the carpets with the number of times he'd sauntered down to Sickbay or Bones' cabin just to shoot the shit. About as often as Bones wandered onto the bridge just to say "Hi" and give folks a reason to stretch and look around. And smile.

Sure, Jim sometimes sat with Sulu and Chekov and the rest of the gang. Still played poker once or twice a week. So he wasn't exactly pining for company.

And maybe he could've recruited Scotty or Uhura or even Gaila to be his wingman/drinking buddy/sounding board/moral compass/giver of metaphorical head slaps. But...he didn't feel like it. Too much effort.

He wouldn't say he was _moping_ exactly---wasn't like Bones was the end-all and be-all of Jim Kirk's existence. But being on the bridge _was_ a lot more boring. And some of his mealtimes were a lot more quiet. Some of his evenings, too. He supposed he was getting a lot more sleep, now that he wasn't staying up nights talking with Bones. Or Spock.

Or sleeping with Spock. Well, more precisely, fucking Spock.

Problem was---and it _should_ have been a problem, a fucking red alert of galactic proportions---Jim wasn't even all that horny anymore. All his plans to claim Spock had sort of fizzled into a shrug. Sure, he wanted Spock in his bed, but that was seeming more like a way of making sure Spock was _his_. Still his. Not going anywhere and leaving another hole in Jim's day/crew/life.

"So Spock, you wanna get together for some chess after shift?" He was _not_ holding his breath. He was not holding his fork so tightly he half-expected it to bend under his fingers.

Spock swallowed, set down his utensils. Regarded the few leaves wilting in the bottom of his bowl. His eyebrows crept together, crowded there a few moments before smoothing out to their usual calm slant.

Then Spock looked up, and Jim knew that Spock's eyes were nothing like a cow's. Too sharp, too piercing. Too _knowing_.

"I would prefer to decline, Jim." Spock's back was already vertical, but he seemed to draw himself into an even straighter line. "There is a project I have neglected for far too long. I plan to complete it this evening, before all of our time is taken up with the negotiations."

He then closed his hands very precisely around the tray, lifted it and stood. "Perhaps tomorrow?"

Jim nodded and watched Spock leave, not sure if the churn in his stomach was frustration---or relief.

====================

Spock's powers of concentration were considerable. He could stay focused on his console during a firefight or in the midst of the usual chatter of the bridge. Could with ease calculate probabilities and recall information on a variety of topics while engaged in multiple conversations.

So it was with some difficulty that Spock reassembled the papyrus scraps without actually reading the message upon them. He was not conscious of the reason for this willful ignorance, but he indulged it nonetheless. He could not bring himself to work on the project otherwise. After so many days of avoidance, he accepted this rather bizarre means to a necessary end.

Work began soon after the dinner with Jim. Spock could not help comparing the strained silence of that meal to the many lively discussions---some would say amiable arguments---that occurred when Leonard was with them, or when Leonard and Spock dined alone. Or even when Jim and Spock had shared meals...before.

After hours of methodical effort, Spock was almost finished. His fingers traced the edges of the pieces, fitting them together as smoothly as one of the antique Earth jigsaw puzzles his mother had carried with her to Vulcan. He could still remember leaning against her, her scent and slight weight wrapped around his child's body as their hands flashed together in the sun.

Even when he needed to line up letters, he only considered the strokes, the symbols, whether things matched. They were just shapes, with no meaning as yet. If his eyes lingered upon a word, he would jerk his attention elsewhere: The drapes and decorations on his walls, the feel of his uniform against his skin, the mug of tea at his elbow...anything to distract him.

The contrivance was not often required, for Spock found his mind returning again and again to memories of Leonard.

His first glimpse of the man, through the observation window of the Kobyashi Maru testing suite, set the template for all other impressions. From the start Leonard had been an anomaly. A medical cadet should not have been anywhere on the simulation's bridge, much less manning a console. The doctor---Spock later learned Leonard had already earned that title prior to entering the Academy---had followed orders, but with a penchant for sarcasm and a complete lack of respect for his "captain" in the scenario.

Spock had also noted the way the brunet's uniform had strained at the seams, outlining musculature that was more commonly seen on security cadets than medical ones.

The quirks of Leonard's personality had continued to confuse Spock throughout their initial interactions. Through Spock's superior hearing he'd inadvertently discovered that Leonard didn't know Spock, but liked him---at least according to the brief conversation held between Leonard and Jim at the assembly. The paradox had caused momentary puzzlement that Spock deliberately set aside in his focus on the fate of his homeworld.

Leonard's unpredictability was soon to become his most characteristic trait, as his words, actions, and emotions shifted as often as the green, brown, and gold of his eyes. He risked his career to smuggle Jim aboard Enterprise, but allowed Spock to banish Jim to Delta Vega with no public outcry. Instead Leonard had limited his protests to a private consult that evidenced fierce avowals but firm acknowledgment of the chain of command.

Even the muttered "hobgoblin" comment seemed more indicative of frustration than true dislike. Leonard's obvious affection in using the term to Spock's face in later months had confirmed the deduction. Spock equated it with Leonard's frequent use of "idiot" when referring to Jim.

Spock had not expected to become friends with Leonard. The doctor had seemed too different---too _human_. And yet so many things about Leonard gave Spock the sense of a kindred spirit: curiosity, stubbornness, intelligence. Awkwardness concealed by stoicism in Spock and gruffness in Leonard.

At Leonard's core, Spock had discovered a wellspring of compassion, wrapped in an honesty and integrity that would not yield---even at those times when others found lying to be far more convenient. For all his glower and growling, Leonard McCoy was a good man, a good friend.

Throughout their time aboard Enterprise, a surprising depth of connection had grown between Leonard and Spock, even before they became romantically involved.

That thought led Spock to more intimate memories. Behind closed doors, Leonard had been...not as Spock assumed. Leonard's intellect had been as swift, his emotions as mercurial, true. But Leonard had been surprisingly comfortable in his own skin. And generous, with his time, his words, his interest in Spock, his attention...himself.

Spock gasped at sudden images of them together. Soft kisses and murmurs, hard bodies grinding. Leonard's strength as he claimed Spock, pistoning into Spock's core with a power that Spock had reveled in. Even more compelling was Leonard's surrender to Spock, legs and arms pulling Spock into the cradle of his body, mouth fused to Spock's or eyes holding Spock captive...close. Cherished.

The scent of them together had lingered in their bedding. Made Spock remember how it felt to wake in the circle of Leonard's arms, or to watch Leonard snuggle deeper into Spock's embrace, long, dark lashes fanning his cheeks and full lips turned up in the smallest of smiles...

With a sharp inhalation Spock brought himself back to his cabin. Now so quiet and cold. Empty of Leonard's presence, despite the few personal effects that Leonard had left behind as he fled Enterprise and the men who had betrayed him.

Leonard had asked why. Even now, Spock did not know. Could not find the words, could not bring order to the tangle of thoughts and yes, emotions, that had led him to Jim's bed that fateful night.

Spock sighed and rubbed his fingertips against his temples, eyes closing. Despite M'Benga's efforts, Spock still dreamed. And no matter what he attempted to do within that surreal landscape, Leonard was again and again lost to him.

He had yet to adjust to the ache of that vacancy.

With a concerted effort, Spock straightened his spine, his shoulders. Willed himself to finally look upon the papyrus, to read and understand what Leonard had wanted to convey. The shreds formed an uneven patchwork of randomness, in antithesis to the precise formation of the Vulcan script. The beauty of the calligraphy paused Spock a moment, as he acknowledged the hours spent crafting this work of art.

The words of the "Fire Dance" were revealed. Spock's breath caught, held. He shivered, body trembling and hands shaking. He could not stop the reaction, could not find that calm center of control. Something deep within Spock began to crumble, like the cliff in his dreams. He felt himself falling away, tumbling as Leonard did into the abyss.

His vision darkened, tunneled into focus on the bottom of the sheet, to the elegant sprawl of Leonard's signature and the lines just above it:

_The sun devours all  
Yet I bare my skin to the heat  
Yet I give my soul to the flame  
To the fire between us_

_By my hearth here rest  
Within my heart here rest  
With you I rest  
In love abide 'til the stars go dark_

_Spock,  
With you, my love, I would abide for all my days,  
Leonard_


	11. Chapter 11

"Excuse me, but are you Doctor Doom?"

McCoy turned toward the voice. Grimaced at the itch of dried sweat on his scalp and along the seams of his workout clothes. "I'm Doctor Leonard McCoy. That who you're huntin' for?"

At first glance, the fella looked like Sulu might after twenty-some years of service. Shadows and lines sculpted wariness into smooth skin over rounded cheekbones and beside full lips. McCoy'd bet that under the shapeless Academy tunic lay a wiry body honed in the field rather than at the gym.

"Yep." The sudden flash of mischief that lit the stranger's brown eyes matched a downright cheeky grin. Dazzled like a thundercloud shooting out a sunbeam.

McCoy blinked. "Uh, OK. Who're you and what d'you want?"

"Professor Zhan Yao. I'm part of the security program here." Yao lifted a padd. "I'd like to talk to you about these field trips you're planning---specifically how to keep the cadets from getting killed in your doomsday scenarios."

"Yeah, I guess that is a devil of a detail." McCoy leaned down to grab his towel and water bottle. "What're you hopin' to get out of this little chat?"

Yao lifted a shoulder. "Some adjustments to the parameters to make things less...perilous. Right now these look like they could match the Kobyashi Maru for casualties."

McCoy tilted his head toward the showers, let Yao fall into step with him before replying. "Well, I'm not sure how much wiggle room I can give you. Y'see, I want these to be _better_ than the Kobyashi Maru---more real."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I mean, maybe it's just 'cause it was Jim Kirk in the captain's chair, but it all seemed like some kinda goddamned _game_ to him---even when he lost. And the med students were just as bad during field training. Me included. Just goin' for the grade. Not thinkin' about how it could be somebody's _life_ on the line."

"I understand where you're coming from." Yao's forehead creased. "We don't pull any punches with the elite-forces trainees. Hostage situations, friendly fire, pinned down with no way to beam out."

He slanted a look at McCoy. "The cadets do tend to come back rather banged up and...singed."

McCoy snorted. "I've noticed. I want the med folks to have that same kind of...I don't know, _warning_ about how easy it is for things to go screwy when you're on a mission. And just how high the stakes can get."

"OK, Doctor McCoy." Yao made some notations on his padd. "I'd like to get together with you and the engineer assigned to this project, see what we can come up with."

He looked up. "Could we meet at 0900 tomorrow? My office is on the first floor of the Operations Building."

"That should work for me." McCoy paused at the entry to the locker room. "Thanks---y'know, for not just shooting the whole idea down, and me along with it."

"Thank _you_." Yao's grin was back. "For not playing the admiral card. You could've just said 'tough luck'---the plans were already approved. Pike pretty much trumps _everybody_ around here."

McCoy startled into a laugh. "You do realize that you've just handed me a loaded phaser with that one."

"I'm sure you'll keep it set on stun." With a nod of farewell, Yao wiped the smile from his face and pivoted on his heel. He practically marched his way out of the gym.

McCoy shook his head as he watched cadets jump clear of Yao's path. He was still chuckling when he hit the showers.

===========

A sunflower-bright laugh met McCoy as he entered Yao's office the next morning. He glanced away from the empty desk and found a low table sporting a tray with a carafe, coffee fixings, and a single empty mug. A sofa and one of the chairs were occupied by Yao and a woman in engineering red.

All he could see of her was flaxen hair. As she stood and faced him, his eyes slid down lush curves and back up to a smile that warmed her brown eyes.

"Doctor Leonard McCoy," he said, reaching out a hand.

"Commander Evaleen Ross." Her grip was strong and sure.

McCoy shared a nod with Yao as he settled next to him on the couch. He cocked an eyebrow at Ross. "So, is this part of your regular gig or did you draw the short straw?"

"Oh, no, I volunteered." Ross leaned in. "Admiral Pike said you needed someone sneaky."

McCoy chuckled as he put down his padd to pour a cup of coffee. "He would know."

"So, Commander..." Yao gestured to Ross with his mug. "What's the plan?"

"Well, it's a little tricky. We want to create a cave-in--- _two_ cave-ins, really, since we don't want the medic to be able to just stroll out and call for help. Both have to be real enough to convince the cadets." She slanted a grin. "But we also don't want them to be so real somebody gets squished."

McCoy took a sip of the coffee and hummed with pleasure. It was damn good stuff; Yao must have connections. "Is that even possible? I mean, I know you can make it _look_ real..."

"You're right, a hologram would be no problem." Ross shrugged. "Except people trapped in caves tend to poke at the rocks trapping them, and if they try that they'll fall right through."

Yao leaned forward. "So you want to use actual stones?"

"Probably." Ross nodded. "But we'll need to generate some forcefields to ensure controlled drops, and conceal that equipment _and_ some sensors so the rocks don't come down while somebody's standing under them. And surveillance gear so the cadets can be evaluated. Plus we'll need anti-grav units to get the rocks in place to be dropped at all."

She shook her head. "These caves aren't that big---space could definitely be an issue. I hope none of the cadets is claustrophobic." Ross's brow furrowed as she tapped at her padd.

McCoy snorted. "It almost sounds like it'd be easier to build a cave from scratch."

"Well if we were going to do that, we might as well just build a room full of holo-projectors and make the whole cave a hologram. Of course we'd have to figure out a way to have the hologram mimic texture and mass so the walls would seem, as we've said, solid." Ross blinked and sat up. "That's not such a bad idea..."

"But not really feasible with our current schedule." Yao tapped his padd lightly on the table. "Correct, Commander?"

"What? Oh, yes, sir." Ross leaned forward as she consulted her padd. "So what we'll want to do is..." She launched into a spate of technobabble.

"So we're really gonna do this?" McCoy realized he was wasting his breath as Yao and Ross continued to discuss details. He closed his eyes a moment and let their voices wash over him. He could almost imagine himself back on Enterprise, on the bridge listening to the crew chatter as they batted ideas back and forth like so many ping-pong balls.

He shook off the reverie and swallowed down the homesickness. The here and now were what he needed to focus on. Wishing wouldn't put things back to the way they were, not with Enterprise or---or any of the people on it.

But he did miss them.


	12. Chapter 12

"Well, _this_ is exciting." Sulu used one heel to kick the captain's chair into a slow spin, first to the right, then to the left. On the third round he paused mid-circle to share a grimace with Lieutenant Hannity, who was covering Communications for Uhura. The gal looked even more bored than Sulu.

Chekov paused the virtual chess game he was playing on his console and glanced over his shoulder. "You think, better to have emergency?"

Sulu tilted the chair all the way back so he could look at Chekov upside-down. "Well at least it would break up the week."

And what a dull week it had been. They'd been parked for a while at the Federation equivalent of a one-shuttle town: an engineering station on a small moon in an out-of-the-way system. Each time Scotty was on the bridge, he took one look at the view on the screen, shivered, then walked away muttering to himself about the "arse-end of the galaxy".

At least the crew had finally been clued in on the mission. If you ignored all the diplomatic verbal masturbation, the Federation was looking to sub-contract some of Starfleet's usual duties. Basically, trying to rent some muscle.

The disaster at Vulcan had wiped out a good portion of the fleet, and starships weren't built in a day---or even two years. Starfleet was spread pretty thin, and didn't the Klingons and Romulans know it.

So did the leaders of the Rhodzel Alliance. The quasi-military coalition of systems bridged Federation and Romulan territories. And the wily aliens had offered a most interesting proposition: They would protect the Federation worlds and trade routes that bordered their Alliance---for a price. Enterprise had ferried the Federation reps to the site of this hush-hush negotiation.

The corners of Chekov's eyes crinkled in a sly grin. "If your choice, you pick to be at conference---vith sword."

"Yeah, you got that right." Sulu sighed and returned his chair to its usual position. He didn't trust the Rhodzel, not as far as he could throw their collective condescending, double-talking, bright-orange butts. "That's where the action is---at least as much 'action' as we're gonna see."

Chekov shrugged. "You are not security. You prefer red shirt?"

Sulu just grunted. He _knew_ he wasn't a security officer. But he had that same itchy feeling he got when he volunteered to help take out that Romulan weapon on their first mission: That he needed to _be_ there. Not babysitting a ship that was doing nothing more than orbiting the moon. Going around and around and around...

There wasn't even a Rhodzel vessel to keep an eye on. They'd dumped a load of delegates and blasted off to parts unknown.

Chekov had turned to study Sulu with wide eyes. "You think there is danger?"

Sulu shrugged. "Probably not." He was sure Mister Spock had done his usual thorough job coordinating things. Still... "Just keep an eye on those long-range scanners."

Chekov nodded as he turned back to his console.

Throughout the bridge, backs straightened and gazes sharpened. Somehow, the added tension made Sulu more relaxed. They were ready.

But for what...

==================

Starfleet captains did _not_ twitch. Even when they desperately wanted to.

Jim forced himself to slouch in his not-so-comfy seat in the engineering station's conference room. Eyed the Rhodzel delegation---six reps, six security. All of them orange-skinned humanoids, looking more like they should be holding up some back-alley bar than participating in a super-secret Federation confab.

The conversation drifted past him. Uhura's voice was calm, clear, carrying as she translated Standard into Rhodzel and back. The fact that citizens of the Rhodzel Alliance _usually_ spoke Standard themselves was studiously unmentioned. Just one more way to stick it to the Feds.

Despite the oh-so-nicely-tailored outfits, the Rhodzel were a bunch of thugs. Ah'shtan, their leader, sneered so damn politely Jim itched to punch the man's teeth in. But Jim wasn't likely to get near---every one of Ah'shtan's back-up could go kilo-for-kilo with Cupcake.

A creeping unease raised the hairs on his forearms and the back of his neck. _Something_ was going down. Same feeling he got when he was about to be jumped---not by the pretty he was trying to sweet-talk into bed, but by his or her hulking boyfriend and the guy's six best buds.

Jim shifted slightly, noted how his own security folks didn't twitch, either. They were keyed up---he'd bet more than one guy or gal had sweat sticking their red shirts to their backs---but you couldn't tell it from looking at them.

His gaze flicked to Spock, met wary brown eyes. Spock had security teams walking a perimeter outside the base, roaming the halls inside the base. Scanners on full blast. Enterprise on the look-out. All contingencies covered. They _hoped_.

But he could tell Spock sensed it, too: That _something_ was going on, something they hadn't anticipated or prepared for.

At least in this, they still clicked. As captain and commander, as Starfleet officers with a couple of years under their belts. Fuck knew he hadn't connected with Spock any other way. Not since...

He saw it: Ah'shtan glanced at Jim, a smirk lifting the corners of the Rhodzel's full lips---then all hell broke loose.

============

" _Govno!_ " Chekov was looking at the viewscreen, and he _still_ almost missed it. The Rhodzel ship appeared for only a second or two---just long enough to fire an energy burst at the engineering station. "They are shooting the keptin!"

"Red Alert!" Sulu's voice was muffled by Chekov's drumming pulse. "Get a lock on that ship and blow it to hell. Hannity, find out what's happening down there."

Chekov's quick check of sensor data yielded nothing. He scrabbled at his console, pulling up different types of scans. Searching for _something_ , anything.

"There!"

At the shout, Chekov automatically looked at the viewscreen. Nothing showed but the tail of a second shot. He glanced back at Sulu.

His friend was straining forward like a dog on a tight leash. Probably only Sulu's sense of command responsibility keeping him from leaping to take the pilot's chair. Sulu shook his head, mouth grim. "Take us down as close to the edge of the atmosphere as we can---try to get the station underneath us."

Sulu's dark gaze locked onto him, slammed like a phaser bolt. "Find me that ship, Pavel."

Chekov could hear the chatter of the bridge crew---station, damage, casualties---as he swung back to his console. He checked every wavelength of the electromagnetic spectrum. All came back empty: just the moon, the Enterprise, and the near-vacuum of space.

His hands clenched as the ship shuddered. At least they'd managed to block the third blast---or the Rhodzel had added another target.

Enterprise had faced dangerous situations before. Chekov was used to this sense of doom that hovered, like the crows that watched with too-sharp eyes in the trees outside his village. How often had his uncle dragged Chekov out, to stare at tracks he could barely see against the hard-packed snow. Blank white-against-white until his uncle sprinkled ash from the fire to reveal the prints like faint...

" _Teni!_ " He turned to Sulu. "Shadows! Mister Scott must---"

"Do it." Sulu was already thumbing his comm. "Bridge to Engineering. Be ready to help Chekov get a bull's-eye on these bastards."

"Engineering, aye. Whatever you need, laddie." Scott's cheery voice sounded above the whine and thrum of Enterprise shaking off another blast.

" _Da, da_ ," Chekov muttered to himself as he scanned the ship's inventory. He needed something that---there!

He didn't even hear himself explaining to Mister Scott. But he could see the results a few moments later: what looked like a fog bank rolling across the viewscreen. Showing the outline of the Rhodzel ship as it darted around Enterprise to shoot twice more at the station.

"Fire all phasers." Sulu practically growled the command.

Chekov found it most satisfying, to watch the beams cut through the Rhodzel vessel. He nodded to himself: Using the cloak weakened their shields, a necessary risk to help mask energy output. "Rhodzel ship is disabled." He looked at Sulu, shared a grin.

"Good work, everyone." Sulu winked at him and tilted his head back. "Hannity, tell those bastards to prepare for boarding. I wanna know what the hell is going on." As Sulu straightened in his seat, a sudden flash lit his stunned face.

Chekov turned back to the viewscreen to see the pieces of the Rhodzel ship starting to separate, drifting into the wispy remains of Chekov's "ash". "They must have..."

"Self-destructed." Sulu nodded. "But stay sharp, we don't know if they've got anything else out there. Hannity, let the station know we're ready to start beam-ups---and have security send down some back-up ASAP."

Chekov resumed his vigil, hoping that none of his crewmates had suffered in the attack.

==========

"Fuck." Jim popped up from behind the conference table they'd shoved onto its side as cover. He fired a blast, watched it dissipate against Ah'shtan's fucking _personal shield_ before ducking back into a crouch. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_!"

"Your emotional expletives appear to be as ineffective as our weapons." Spock's tense body betrayed his oh-so-uninvolved voice.

Jim grunted. They were lucky---if you could call it that---to be facing only eight Rhodzel. Four of the goon squad had gone down under chunks of ceiling as a series of blasts rocked the station. Apparently those shields couldn't deflect metal girders and chunks of whatever else Starfleet Engineering made stations out of.

The technology did just fine against phasers, however. Jim knew they were also lucky that the Rhodzel had their own weapons set on stun. Apparently the aliens were hoping to take everyone in the room alive, or they didn't want to risk a stray shot hitting one of the hostages/bargaining chips they actually _wanted_.

But on the minus side, he suspected even the Rhodzel "ambassadors" had good aim. Jim wished he could say the same about the Federation reps. He spared a glance to where they cowered against the far wall, then did a sit check on the rest of his people.

He was down one redskirt (stunned); and one redshirt (unmoving under more rubble). Jim was ignoring how grateful he was that Spock and Uhura had come through unscathed---so far.

That left twelve on his side: him, Spock and Uhura; and four bumped and bruised security officers formed up around the five equally banged-up ambassadors.

"Communications are still down---I can't even contact station personnel." Uhura was working her comm unit in between firing shots at the Rhodzel. A layer of grayish dust masked her face, her eyes made darker in contrast.

"It is probable that both the station and the Enterprise are dealing with additional components of a coordinated attack." Spock's gaze was fixed on his tricorder.

Spock didn't contribute to the next round of "shoot the shield." But soon he noted, "There is a surge in the power signature of the shields when impacted by our phasers, but little corresponding drop afterward. I calculate that our weapons will be exhausted 35 minutes before our opponents' defenses fail."

He lifted his head. "I have no explanation for why the Rhodzel have not engaged us directly."

" _Target practice_ ," Jim muttered between clenched teeth. They were treating his people like fucking ducks in an old-Earth carnival game. "Give me a Plan B, Spock."

Jim took a deep breath, launched a yell over the table. "So...Ah'shtan, want to clue us in on your cunning plans for galactic domination?"

The blasts from the other side stopped. The satisfied chuckle had to be Ah'shtan, the bastard. "Very well, Captain. I believe it is a time-honored method of conquest: Establish a base at the border, use it as a launchpad for an assault farther into the enemy's territory. Send strike teams to decimate the tattered shreds of your pathetic Starfleet. Subdue and overtake a chain of sites that will mark the redrawn boundary of a _new_ empire---one that will devour both the Federation and the Rhodzel Alliance."

Spock's brows crept together in a frown, but his voice was as steady as ever. "I believe these Rhodzel insurgents intend to use Enterprise and our representatives in a deception that will aid this incursion."

"Yeah." It made sense---the fuckers probably figured they could hold the folks down here as leverage.

But no way in hell was James T. Kirk about to become a puppet for these orange-assed bastards. He gestured at Uhura and the security team to keep the Rhodzel engaged. He grabbed Spock's forearm, sleeve bunching in his fist. "They're not gonna play this game forever. We need a way out of this--- _now_."

The sounds of energy weapons discharging surrounded them again. On Spock's other side, Uhura moved in a quick blur of red, leaning up, firing and coming back under cover in less than a breath. Between shots, her gaze flicked between her equipment and them. No doubt wondering just as Jim was what kind of miracle Spock was about to pull out of his Vulcan ass.

A few moments later, Spock nudged him. Jim shifted as Spock gestured for all three of them to up the settings on their phasers to full blast. They crowded close together, Spock's and Uhura's scents overlaid with the overwhelming smell of dust. Jim leaned forward.

Spock glanced at the table a moment as if he could see through it to their adversaries. "We have already observed that the shields are not capable of supporting objects of significant mass. Destabilizing the ceiling of this structure would be ill-advised; however, the floor underneath this room is situated above a storage cavern of considerable height---"

"With a nice slab of rock to land on at the bottom." Jim's lips stretched wide to bare his teeth as he pivoted on his heels and dove for the far edge of the table, firing around it at the floor just before and below the Rhodzels' feet.

The first shots opened up gaping wounds in the floor. The bottom literally dropped out of the Rhodzels' world.

He would've laughed if he'd had the time. But Jim was too busy joining Spock and Uhura in cutting the floor out from under the rest of the Rhodzel goons.

Ah'shtan's disappearance was followed a few seconds later by a very satisfying thud and scream. But Jim was already up and darting around the table. He waved over his security team. "Round up whoever you can to secure that cavern. We don't want those rats escaping the trap."

Jim glanced down. There was some blood and bone showing, a lot of groaning. He shifted his phaser back to stun and began picking off the Rhodzel, noting whose shields had been damaged in the fall. Soon there wasn't even a twitch.

Spock joined Jim in peering over an edge. "Station personnel store only comestibles and other non-military items below, and in small packages. The natural minerals in the rock impede both communications and transporters."

"Good to know." Jim looked toward the Federation delegates, who were just levering to their feet and shaking out their suits and robes. He stepped over to them. "OK, folks, here's the deal: We've gotta go secure the rest of the station and my ship. You'll be staying here and we'll be locking the doors behind us."

Spock appeared at his elbow. "There is a small possibility that the Rhodzel will attempt to exit the cavern via the openings..."

Jim grinned at the sudden bloodthirsty expressions on the Federation ambassadors. Apparently getting shot at turned them from sheep to wolves. "Oh, I think our friends here will do just fine with a couple of borrowed phasers." He had a feeling he wouldn't be lacking volunteers.

A few moments later Jim was leading Spock and Uhura down a smoke- and debris-filled corridor toward the control center of the station.

Uhura's shout sounded behind him. "I have Enterprise!"

Jim's reply was drowned out by a sudden roar---then everything went black.


	13. Chapter 13

Brie sought the calm place within herself that she always tapped when caught in a crisis. There was no sense of panic in Sickbay, despite the stench of blood and burned flesh overwhelming the ventilation system. The staff moved around her without a misstep---Chapel handing over equipment and primed hypos almost before Brie asked for them, M'Benga's steady voice assigning patient priorities as he handled his half of the triage. Leonard had been right---his people were among the best in Starfleet.

Enterprise hadn't taken too many hits, but when a crew has less than a second to go from minding their own business to fighting for their lives, things happen. People fall down maintenance shafts, wind up near exploding equipment, get caught in corners or cubbyholes suddenly filled with burning plasma or sparking circuitry...

But she could handle it. The patients in her care were the top priority; the rest of the wounded, along with the disposition of staff and supplies came second. Next was speculation on what had happened to the ship, to the station...and the possible casualties down on the surface. There was even a corner of her mind devoted to wondering just what the hell had gone wrong. And what the implications might be, for this ship, its crew, and the Federation at large.

Time was passing, expanding and contracting with her focus. She confirmed that the ORs were on standby. Even if they hadn't been needed so far, Brie believed in being prepared for the worst-case scenario. Which was why she also had a phaser tucked in the back of her waistband and a knife and a few hyposprays hidden in her boots.

Pike had taught her well.

She shared a smile with Chapel; the first, most serious wave of patients had survived. But before she could take a relieved breath, the comm system switched on. A woman's voice filled the air above them. "Bridge to all decks. Stand down from red alert. Go to yellow alert and prepare to submit damage and casualty reports."

Before Brie could begin to relax the voice continued, "Bridge to Sickbay. Trauma team report to Transporter Room 1. Also, a medical unit should prepare immediately to beam down with the security detail. Standard gear; phasers set on stun."

Brie raised her voice to be heard above the low murmur of people and machines. "OK. Whoever's next on the roster for field work better suit up stat. M'Benga, you and I will both meet the wounded---we'll figure out who's staying when we know what's incoming. And get some orderlies down to the storage unit on that deck to haul out the stretchers and get them to the transporter room."

She glanced to her side. "Chapel, you take charge here. Continue processing patients until you get one of us back, but call immediately if anyone or anything---"

"Got it." Chapel offered a brisk nod before moving to get a quick assessment from the staff members about to leave.

Brie headed over to where the medkits were kept. As she slung one over her shoulder, two more med officers quickly collected and confirmed their equipment.

She picked up another medkit and carried it over to M'Benga, who was just finishing his briefing of Chapel.

With a nod of thanks he took it. In less than a minute, she and M'Benga were following their colleagues out of Sickbay.

==============

"Doctor M'Benga?"

Jabilo looked up, accepted the utility belt held out to him by a security officer. As he fastened it around his waist, he automatically touched the phaser and communicator to check they were secure.

He wasn't sure what to expect. If McCoy were still aboard, Jabilo knew that the CMO would send him where Kirk and Spock _weren't_. Rarely did any of the Sickbay staff deal with Enterprise's command team without McCoy on hand to grumble at them.

But McCoy hadn't been on board for weeks. And while Jabilo had no problems with Caine as a physician or a boss, he wasn't sure which way she'd jump: back into Sickbay or down to the station.

Of course, a lot depended on what was waiting for them in Transporter Room 1...

The first sliver of opening door sent a wave of voices crashing over them. Jabilo could hear Gaila calling out information, though the words were lost in the babble.

Another three steps and he and Caine were caught up in the chaos.

Red everywhere: blood, tunics, a little blood on red tunics. Jabilo blinked and focused on a body starting to crumple. It took him a second to realize it was the captain, groaning and losing consciousness as Spock and Uhura lowered him to the deck.

Caine already had her tricorder out, her gaze darting from one officer to the other. "What are we dealing with?"

Spock released the captain and straightened. "The damage to the station is considerable. There are at minimum six dead and two dozen wounded still on the surface, the latter including a significant number of Rhodzel prisoners. But none of those injuries are critical."

Jabilo leaned forward to assist Caine in easing the tunic and undershirt up Kirk's torso. He winced at the distension and bruising already showing on the man's space-pale skin. "Abdominal Compartment Syndrome?" Jabilo asked, both himself and Caine.

The deepening lines on Caine's face offered confirmation even before she nodded. Her brown eyes lifted to his. "He needs surgery _now_. Can you handle whatever's down there?"

"I will." Jabilo tightened his hold on the medkit strap slung across his chest. He knew Caine and likely Christine would be out of action until Kirk was in post-op. He rose to his feet and moved aside as orderlies hustled in with an anti-grav stretcher.

He shared a nod with Caine before stepping onto the transporter pad with his two teammates and a contingent of security.

Gaila's worried expression was the last thing he saw before someone said, "Energize."

==============

Christine hated the waiting. She needed to know: the vitals, the diagnosis, the treatment, the prognosis. They had some warning---Caine commed ahead to order the special kit of captain-safe meds be made ready and for Christine to scrub up for surgery.

Still, when they came through the Sickbay doors...the sight of Kirk stretched out, dirty, bloody, pale, sweating...it twisted her gut. For one moment she couldn't help wishing McCoy were here. Because she _knew_ him, knew his brilliant mind and skilled hands, knew his gruff bluster and delighted grin and fierce determination to save every damn patient who passed into his care.

Knew how many medical miracles the Enterprise Sickbay had seen in the last two years.

But Christine also knew wishing wasn't worth a damn when someone was bleeding out or dropping fast. Just action. So she took a deep breath, met Caine's eyes and nodded her readiness. "Do you want me to take care of the pre-op?"

"No, you're already sterile. Check the OR scanners have downloaded the preliminary data. We'll need suction, and have the osteo-regenerator on standby." Caine's mouth thinned as her eyes flicked over Kirk. "It's going to be messy in there."

Christine turned away to confirm everything was ready. Waiting. Impatience itched along her nerves. She wanted to be out there, in the action. Getting Kirk's filthy garments removed, swabbing him down and manning the portable sterile-field generator as he was draped and anesthetized.

Or be back out on the floor, running regenerators and administering hyposprays, doing post-procedure checks on the crewmembers who hadn't been sent to their quarters or back to their posts.

Anything but standing here.

Then Caine was at her side and Kirk was in front of her. The waiting was over. Kirk morphed into just a body---a section of body, the _linea alba_ bared and ready to be slit with a laser scalpel.

Christine handed over instruments and voiced scanner updates on auto-pilot. She was different in the field. There, survival of the medical personnel became a factor. Then Christine would be constantly sweeping their surroundings, checking the condition of their environment as well as the patient.

But they were in Sickbay, the battle was over. So she could concentrate on here, now.

Caine became nothing more than a voice to be obeyed and a hand held out for Christine to slap instruments into the palm. Anything outside the sterile field---the state of the Sickbay, the ship, the crew, the Federation---everything faded into the careful monitoring of the patient's vitals and the progression of the surgery.

As it should be.

===================

"Aye, 'tis a bad business, Mister Spock." Scotty crossed his arms and ankles as he leaned against the railing by the bridge engineering consoles. He'd been called up from the surface---and his assessment of the structural integrity of what was left of the engineering station---to discuss the Rhodzel. It was a good enough distraction from the worry that no word had yet come from Sickbay on the status of the captain.

He nodded toward the data currently scrolling down one of the screens. "We'd never had reports before now of Rhodzel ships bein' equipped with cloaks. If they _have_ gotten cozy with the Romulans, there'll be plenty of tech to share between them."

Spock frowned. Well, not truly, 'twas more that his eyebrows crept a wee bit closer together. But Scotty'd spent enough time with the man to know when things were not right.

Things had not been right for quite a while. But that was none of Scotty's business. While the doc had become a good friend---many's the time they'd whiled away an hour sipping fine liquor and contemplating the vagaries of the universe---Mister Spock had not let Scotty so far into his confidence.

But as Scotty had said oft enough to Gaila and Keenser on this mission, 'twas a shame, that matters had become such a tangle between McCoy, Mister Spock, and the captain.

"Starfleet must be made aware of this possible alliance, as well as the attacks upon both Enterprise and the station," Spock said as his gaze drifted over Scotty's shoulder to sweep the bridge.

After a moment he focused on Scotty once more. "We will be unable to leave orbit until the station is secure. And even then, Enterprise will have to travel some distance to reach a Starbase. Mister Scott, by what means do you suggest we convey our status and information?"

Scotty was already nodding. He'd held his own consult with Keenser and Gaila. "I can give you two options. First, send out shuttle teams---on different courses. There's a fair possibility those aliens will have laid a surprise or two between here and the nearest Starbase."

Spock nodded his understanding. "And second?"

"Put the information in a data cache and load it into an unarmed torpedo." Scotty shrugged. "With no weapons payload, it should have a small enough energy signature to slip past anyone keeping watch."

"So how do you propose to alert Starfleet personnel of its existence?" The question was accompanied by a slight tilt of Spock's head. Aye, the man always was more curious than a cat.

"We've rigged a passive sensor array that will only activate a beacon once it is within shouting distance of a Federation signal." Scotty shrugged. "Or we can always program it to land on somebody's doorstep."

"That will not be necessary." Spock did another one of those bridge sweeps, then nodded to himself. "I will prepare and encrypt a report for Starfleet. Proceed with both plans, using two shuttles and four torpedoes. Two torpedoes to travel in the same direction as each shuttle, but by varying courses. There is a likelihood that the smaller devices will be undetected by anyone who chooses to engage a shuttle."

"Aye." Scotty hoped that all their lads and lasses made it to their destinations safe and sound.

Before he could turn to implement the plans, the intercom system engaged. "Sickbay to Bridge."

Scotty could _feel_ everyone freeze.

Mister Spock must have sensed it as well, for he stepped forward to tap in a command. "Bridge to Sickbay, acknowledged. What is the captain's condition, Doctor?"

The lady doc's reply was limited to the speaker at their console. "It wasn't pretty, but we managed to find all the bleeders and relieve the pressure in his abdomen. Between the shattered bone and soft-tissue damage, Captain Kirk is likely to be our guest for some time."

"Understood, Doctor." Spock's voice was possibly a wee bit uneven.

After a moment Doctor Caine continued, "Commander Spock, while I realize that we're still far from normal operations, I will expect that within a few hours a roster will be posted to allow at least part of the crew to catch a meal and some sleep."

"That is standard procedure. Bridge out." Spock reached to toggle the comm off.

He was interrupted by the lady before he got the chance. "Commander, I am fully conversant with the advantages to Vulcan physiology---and also its limits. You'll have twelve hours before I complain that the Acting Captain is ignoring 'standard procedure'."

" _Understood_ , Doctor. Bridge out." That time Spock wasn't even finished speaking before he closed the connection.

Scotty nodded to himself as he turned to head back to Engineering to share the good news about the captain...and to see how repairs to their sweet silver lass were progressing.

=================

Spock was fully aware that there was little to be accomplished sitting in Sickbay. There was, in fact, little for him _to_ accomplish anywhere, at this precise moment. The ship and station were as secure as they could be.

Ensign Chekov's "dust" had been replaced with an interstellar version of sonar. Sensor buoys emitting random frequencies had been deployed. The theory was that no cloak could anticipate the pulse---or compensate quickly enough---to approach undetected.

Repairs were continuing apace, both here and on the surface. The wounded had been treated, the dead prepared for their journey back to Earth. The prisoners were both restrained and confined, and in some cases sedated to aid recovery from their injuries.

Reports had been written, read, updated, and approved. Rosters the same. Spock had turned the bridge over to gamma shift personnel, showered, changed, and eaten.

He should be meditating or sleeping. Instead he sat by Jim's bedside.

He had seen Jim unconscious precisely nine times in their term of service together. Most often in these circumstances: the captain wounded and recovering under sedation, usually in Sickbay.

When Spock arrived, Doctor M'Benga had glanced around Sickbay as if doing reconnaissance, then announced that Doctor Caine had left instructions that Spock was to have only fifteen minutes with the captain. Spock was then not to return until Jim was awake, aware, and ready for visitors. Predicted to be some thirty-six hours hence.

This was the first time he was alone in his vigil. Leonard would have grumbled at Spock, handed him a hot chocolate or a spice tea and pulled up another chair. They would have spent the next measure of time together, watching over Jim. Leonard's posture would have gradually acquired a 17 percent differential from the perpendicular, enough so his arm rested against Spock's. Not a weight, but a presence.

Spock had nine point five minutes left before Doctor Caine's deadline. He predicted M'Benga would allow some twelve minutes more to pass before approaching Spock.

An aberration in the rhythm of Jim's breath drew Spock's attention. His gaze rested upon the slack features, bereft of the animation lent by Jim's personality.

Although Jim and he had engaged in intercourse, they had not "slept together" in the literal sense. Spock had no idea of what Jim was like in stillness, in rest...in that closeness that comes when two bodies relax those last few millimeters into each other.

Nor did he know what Jim was like in that truest of communions, mind to mind. Like Leonard and Spock, Jim and Spock had never melded. For as many times that Jim had urged Spock to use his Vulcan mental abilities on friend or foe---as often as Spock had suggested the use of same---their minds had never touched.

Jim had nearly died under the collapsing ceiling of the station's main corridor.

Spock had, for a moment, been as lost to volition as the day he'd choked Jim on the bridge of the Enterprise. His first instinct had been to shove Uhura back toward the relative safety of the doorway. Then he'd begun to move forward to shield Jim, but before he could even take a step he'd been knocked off his feet by a chunk of rubble.

For twenty seconds, his breathing and vision were impaired. Then Spock regained his footing, deciding to ignore the ache in his back from the impact of the debris.

There was no sight of Jim---just the gray of plasticrete and dust.

With a roar, Spock had cast aside his phaser and plunged his hands into the rubble. He had retained the presence of mind---barely---to avoid striking anyone in the vicinity with the flung pieces as he sought to unbury his captain and friend.

Uhura had taken it upon herself to scramble down the debris-strewn corridor to seek help from the engineers in the command center. All Spock knew was that at one point, he was surrounded by bodies, several pairs of hands reaching to perform the same task as his own.

Several times, they'd been assaulted anew by shifting and still-falling rubble.

It was not until Spock glimpsed a shred of gold cloth that logic reasserted itself. Soon after, his comm sounded. By the time he conferred with Enterprise and determined a suitable beaming point, Jim was gasping and cursing. The captain forced himself to his feet despite the protests of his rescuers. Less than a minute later, they were back aboard and Jim was headed toward Sickbay.

Spock had not speculated on Jim's condition or the odds of survival. His focus had remained upon his duties. But now, his thoughts seemed locked on the events of the past weeks. Unable to shift from contemplation of Jim's presence and Leonard's absence.

Of what it would have meant to lose Jim, and what it would mean to keep him.


	14. Chapter 14

Gaila had been in Sickbay for ten minutes, having arrived right on time to relieve Keenser. She hadn't even stopped to eat after going off-duty, just rushed over after slipping into comfy (but stylish) slouch-around clothes.

She sighed, loudly. Found she couldn't make any noise flipping to the next screen of text on her padd. So she shifted in her chair, trying to make it creak.

Hmmm...a flicker of eyelid, a flash of blue. She knew it! Jim was faking being asleep. Probably had been for the last three days. Every time she visited---whenever _anyone_ dropped by---he was either unavailable or unconscious.

He was, as every other day, propped up in bed half-sitting with the blanket slipped down to pool in his lap. A combination scanner-monitor-regen unit was wrapped around his naked torso from armpits to hips, looking like a blinking, high-tech fashion statement. It kept his insides stable as the reconstructed bones knit and flesh healed. Jim was going to be flaunting his new outfit for quite a while, at least from the ship scuttlebutt.

Nobody had heard from Jim himself, unless Mister Spock had actually managed to "wake up" the captain to deliver reports. The rest of the crew had been issued a Do Not Disturb order that even Scotty was respecting. So they were forced to sit and wait to be acknowledged.

She suspected Doctor Caine was covering for Jim. But the new doc couldn't know that when things went screwy, Jim Kirk craved the shadows. That much Gaila had figured out that first year he was at the Academy. Long before he ever tried to put those flashy moves on her to get access to the Kobyashi Maru program.

Gaila could understand the desire to hide. But that didn't mean she'd put up with it.

She set her padd aside and leaned forward to prop both elbows on Jim's mattress and rest her chin in her hands. "You know, if you wanted to try out a corset I'd've been happy to lend you mine."

Got him! Gaila watched Jim's eyes and mouth fly open to protest. But then he subsided into a glower. "Think you're hilarious, don't you, _Lieutenant_?"

"Well, yes, _Captain_ , along with high-spirited and smoking hot," she answered with a shrug.

She would give him his due when he was issuing orders, but here and now they were just friends and sometime-lovers and he definitely needed her to _not back down_. "But since we're both off-duty, you should be busy appreciating my fabulousness, not moping around Sickbay. You have an entire crew anxiously waiting to see you."

This time Jim's glare didn't look faked. "Yeah, I'll be hopping up to the bridge to say 'Hi' just as soon as I finish my decathlon."

He waved a hand up and down his body. " _Corset_!"

"Yeesss...it's very fetching." Gaila scooted her chair closer. "But you don't have to 'go' anywhere; people have been lining up to see you." She left off the _as you are very much aware_.

"I don't wanna see them." Jim looked away, jaw sticking out as one fist clenched on top of the blanket.

"That isn't like you...did you get hit on the head, too?" Gaila spoke the lie with no remorse. This _wasn't_ like Jim...usually. But nothing on Enterprise had been usual since Doctor Bones had left.

The captain and first officer didn't talk---not to each other or anyone else. At least, not as far as Gaila could tell. She knew Nyota was worried about both of them. (Even if Nyota had also spent quite a few days wanting to "kick both their asses for being such asses".)

Jim tensed and shifted on the bed. Looked like he was gearing up to blast her. But instead he slumped back and covered his eyes with one hand. "Just go away, Gaila."

The defeat in his voice made her frown. She reached out, touched one blanket-covered leg. "I don't think Doctor Bones would want me to."

A horrible, rough not-laugh filled the room as Jim dropped his hand. "Bones doesn't give a fucking damn. Or, he wouldn't, if he'd actually stuck around."

Jim tilted his head back and muttered, "Why the fuck should he?"

Gaila tried to squeeze reassurance through her grip on Jim's knee. "Because he's your friend."

"Nope. Not anymore." Jim was still talking to the ceiling.

She chewed her lip. This wasn't something she knew how to deal with. Gaila _did_ get around---in fact, she considered it something of a purpose in life to spread as much joy and fun as possible. And sex was plenty fun. But she'd always been careful about who she got joyful with. The only times she'd been to bed with someone in a relationship, the significant other (or others) had been there as well.

Everything about this situation was just...beyond her. She could admit to herself, at least, that she just didn't get it. Bones wanting to keep Spock just to himself. Spock spending a year being exclusive and then with no warning being with someone else. And Jim suddenly hopping into bed with his best friend's lover. Unless...

Gaila started slowly. "Someone---someone told me recently that when they were with someone, they were---they were making a life with their lover, building a home with them. For that person, it's part of what a relationship _is_."

She kept her gaze fixed on Jim's face. "Is it that way for you, too? Is that what you were trying to do with Mister Spock---build a home?"

"More like trying to make sure I didn't get kicked out of one." Jim's face smoothed out like he was surprised by his own answer---or his honesty.

Gaila just kept her mouth shut, hoping her expression came across as "interested and subtly encouraging" rather than "Huh?"

For a moment the silence was only broken by the soft beeps of Sickbay machinery. Then Jim sighed. "I know, Bones and Spock had been together for, like, forever. And I was OK with it---really I was. But then..."

His mouth took on that stubborn slant that Gaila recognized. Usually it showed up right before Jim provoked someone into taking a swing at him.

Jim continued, "But then I was getting all these little notes from the Admiralty whenever Spock and Bones collaborated on a project. How well they worked together---'Such a unique combination of logic and creativity' 'How lucky you are, Jimmy boy, to have those two with you'."

Jim seemed to be warming up to his subject now. "And our mission reports keep getting all these responses about Spock---commendation here, stellar evaluation there, like he's some kind of Vulcan Wonderboy and Starfleet is oh-so-lucky to have him and I should be _very_ grateful to have an officer of such distinction as my second in command."

"Um...I don't understand the problem," Gaila was forced to admit. _Wasn't Mister Spock being competent a_ good _thing?_

"They're all just little reminders that Enterprise should have been _his_." Jim wasn't looking at Gaila now. He was staring at the wall across from his bed, his face grim and haunted and _old_ in a way she'd never seen before.

The words seemed ground out between his teeth. "Like I didn't already know that? That Starfleet needed a 'conquering hero' for the recruitment vids and I was the better choice? With Pike stuck planetside, Spock should've been in the big chair when we headed back out. He had the seniority, the experience..."

His eyes dropped to where his hands twisted the blanket in his lap. "Pike sent this comm, just a few lines. Saying how Starfleet was finally gonna get a couple new ships into the sky and that the brass were gonna have a hell of a time figuring out command crews. I didn't need him to spell it out for me. It was just a matter of time."

Gaila found herself sliding up to perch beside Jim's legs. Trying to catch his downcast gaze. "And you figured Spock would be leaving to captain one of them?"

Jim kept his eyes glued to where his fingers pleated the cloth, over and over. "Yeah."

Though the machines weren't any quieter, Gaila felt like a hush had fallen over Sickbay. She leaned closer to whisper her question. "And you...you didn't want him to go?"

His reply was just as quiet. "Yeah. But I also didn't want Spock to take Bones with him."

===============

Jim didn't know why the _fuck_ he was spilling his guts to Gaila. Maybe because she wasn't part of the whole mess, and was the one person who might have a clue where he was coming from. Maybe just because she was there and he had to tell _someone_. He sure as hell couldn't talk to Spock about it.

Or Bones. Likely he'd never talk to Bones about anything again.

And once he'd started, he couldn't seem to shut himself up. "I mean, I just figured that if Spock left, the rest was a done deal. Bones...I knew him for years and he never even _looked_ at anybody. So when he actually did it, put himself out there for Spock---and Spock reached right back and they _clicked_ , well..."

He couldn't get the words out. Lucky for him, Gaila'd already figured out the rest.

"You believed you'd lose them both," she said. Her expression was...Jim couldn't tell _what_ exactly, gentle or something. But thank fuck he couldn't spot a molecule of pity.

It was the one thing that would've had Jim running the fuck out of here, corset or not. "Yeah, I mean, I would have to."

And that was the crux of it. Because the only reason---and it would be the real reason, no matter what line of bullshit Bones would lay down---the only reason Bones would stay on Enterprise and _not_ follow his fucking lover to the end of the universe and back would be if Bones thought Jim couldn't hack it.

If Bones felt _sorry_ for Jim. For the poor little not-orphan kid who'd been left by his dad and his mom and his brother. Who put out a friendly vibe and broad smile but deliberately pushed away just about everyone who tried to get close. Who would once again be all by his lonesome while his best friend went off to a shiny new ship and happily ever after.

And Jim knew he'd probably let Bones do it, make the noble sacrifice and stay behind just so Jim wouldn't be alone.

But Jim also knew he would've hated Bones for it. Sooner or later, but for damn certain. Because it would mean that for all that Jim had grown and learned and done, in Bones' mind Jim was still that pathetic, hungover, knocked-around boy-man stuck on a shuttle to the Academy because he had nowhere else to go.

The whole thing had twisted up in his head and his gut. "That night. I just---it just came to me, all of a sudden. That all Spock needed was a reason not to leave. Then Spock could make it sound all reasonable and logical that he shouldn't have a command of his own. And of course that meant Bones would stay, too. And I figured that if it was Spock and me and Spock and Bones, then Bones and me would just fall into place. Solid. And then nobody would ever go anywhere."

Gaila didn't say anything.

Jim snorted. _What could she say? 'Moron.' 'Way to go, Captain. Screwed up Bones' life, and likely lost your chance at that epic friendship with Spock as well.'_ He snorted again. "Fuckin' _genius_ ," he muttered.

Still no reply. Jim finally glanced at Gaila. She pursed her lips in that sort of smile that's also a shrug. Yeah, there really wasn't anything to say.

But then she leaned forward and laid her head on his shoulder. One arm wrapped around his waist, careful of the corset.

Jim sighed and felt himself relax. Maybe for the first time since this clusterfuck went down. He rested his chin on Gaila's curls, slipped an arm around her and closed his eyes.

Just for a moment.

=================

After another hour sitting with Jim, Gaila waited outside Nyota's cabin. She shifted a box of chocolates from hand to hand as the door began to slide open.

She and Christine blinked at each other.

Then Chris laughed. "Thought you were Doc Caine."

"Oh, did Nyota invite her? That's a good idea." Gaila came in, maybe a little more sedately than usual.

Ny noticed immediately, of course, judging by her frown. She looked up from her spot on one end of the couch. "Something wrong? You're not bounding."

"No, just..." Gaila shrugged. She handed off the candy to Chris and plopped down next to Ny. "Glad to see you lost the sling."

Jim hadn't been the only injury on the surface. But Ny's wrenched shoulder had come after the ceiling collapse, caused by sliding rubble as she helped dig Jim out. Gaila put a hand on Ny's wrist. She didn't like to think about how close she'd come to losing more of her friends.

It happened, of course. Enterprise wasn't the safest posting; they all took risks to save the ship and each other.

Ny just smiled at her and gestured with the glass of white wine in her other hand. "I've been stuck in here all day, still 'recovering'."

She directed a mild glare at Chris before turning back to Gaila. "So tell me the latest word below decks."

Gaila waited until Chris handed over a glass of wine and settled into a chair with her own. "Well, there may be some surprises when we get back to Earth---new assignments. The brass will be looking at staffing a few ships ready to launch."

"Huh," Chris said. She took a sip, then leaned back and rested the foot of the wineglass on her stomach. "I have to say that I'm glad to find out that Starfleet is finally getting us some company. It's been a bit lonely out here---always makes me wonder what would happen if we really needed backup."

Ny made a sound of agreement as she swallowed her own drink. "Still, would you really want to leave Enterprise?"

"I don't know." Chris shrugged. "It would depend on the assignment, I guess. Although I doubt any of the new ships will be science vessels. Starfleet's more interested in using phasers than tricorders, these days."

"Not without reason," Gaila piped up. She jerked her chin toward Ny---specifically Ny's wounded shoulder. "There seems to be plenty of folks looking to carve off a piece of the Federation. Nobody wants another Vulcan."

They all fell silent a moment. That happened, whenever anybody mentioned the planet that had just disappeared into the dark.

Gaila shivered. She could never think of Vulcan without remembering being trapped in a lifepod drifting through the wreckage of the Farragut and all the other Vulcan and Starfleet ships destroyed by Nero's rage. Watching the bodies of friends and strangers brushing against the viewport, their faces frozen in shock and agony.

She'd been alone, so alone...

Ny's voice broke into Gaila's reverie. "This isn't common knowledge, is it? I haven't heard anything before now. Do you think we should tell the rest of the crew?"

"No." Gaila didn't realize she'd said anything until the word fell out of her mouth. She set aside her glass. "No, it wouldn't do any good. Whether you want a transfer, what it means to get the offer or not, what's the best thing for you, the ship, the Federation---folks have enough to worry about without adding all that to the pile."

Chris sat up. "I agree. People will find out soon enough when we get to Earth---or somebody else lets it slip."

Ny just nodded and put down her own glass before resting her free hand on Gaila's. "You OK, really?"

Gaila hadn't realized how hard she was gripping Ny's arm. She immediately let go to twist her fingers together in her lap, ducking her head to hide an embarrassed flush.

She'd done that a lot, when she first came aboard Enterprise. Grabbed at people, clamped her hands around them so they wouldn't---couldn't---let go.

Through lowered lashes she watched Ny reach between them to grasp one of Gaila's hands, laced their fingers to rest easy palm-to-palm in the space between them. Gaila looked up to meet her best friend's smile, glanced over to see Chris's understanding nod.

Luckily the chime rang and gave Gaila a chance to swallow the lump in her throat.

Chris slapped a hand on her thigh and stood. "That better be Doc Caine with the grub."

Ny's eyebrows lifted. "What did you do, charge her admission?"

Chris grinned over her shoulder. "Hey, _she's_ the one who claimed there wasn't any better recipe than her great-grandma's chili and cornbread. I just dared her to prove it."

Gaila joined in the laughter as the door slid open and the scent of something delicious filled the air.


	15. Chapter 15

McCoy raised his glass of champagne with the rest of the group in Pike's office. He had to return Ross's wide grin as she took her place in front of Pike's desk.

Her cheeks warmed in a charming blush as she announced, "To a successful first run of Doctor Doom's Disaster Scenarios---and to making plenty more cadets quake in their boots. Huzzah!"

"Huzzah!" McCoy echoed and drank a mouthful of the fizzy stuff. He preferred a nicely-balanced mint julep or a finely-aged liquor, but that wouldn't be appropriate for this brunchtime mingling of Starfleet's finest.

He made a point to circle the room and thank all the techs who'd been roped in to help get the new simulations in place so quickly. He didn't know whether Ross and Yao had twisted arms or dangled carrots, but the team had done a fine job.

Even he'd been a little unnerved during the test he'd observed. He'd _known_ there wasn't anyone truly injured on the other side of the rocks, but that hadn't kept the adrenaline from kicking in. The folks on his side of the blockage thought it was real, and they'd been scrambling to get to their colleagues as well as get out to get help.

The junior doctor with him had a devil of a time getting folks to quiet down enough to hear the yelled-out info on the injured crewman trapped farther in---and she strained her voice shouting treatment advice through piled stone a meter thick.

It'd been a hell of a dress rehearsal, and the official debut had gone even better. The cadets who'd been their first real victims had been as rattled as he'd hoped---including the med students, which was what he'd been going for in the first place.

Now the design team just had to see whether the code of silence---the same one as applied to the Kobyashi Maru test---would hold firm. It'd be a shame if a pair or two of loose lips ruined the element of surprise.

Luckily, Yao and Ross had taken that into consideration. They certainly had wily and sneaky covered between them.

McCoy had enjoyed working with them on the project. He was also comfortable turning the remaining scenarios over to them, if he ended up moving on at the end of the term.

As to that...his life was comfortable enough right now. He kept himself busy, made new acquaintances. Spent time with Pike and found their easy camaraderie soothing. Tried not to spend too much time thinking about Enterprise and everyone aboard. But it was tough.

He couldn't shake the feeling that this was just a reprieve. That this time, he wasn't going to start a "new life" until he'd fully settled his business with the old one.

"Hey, Doc." Ross's voice broke into his thoughts. She seemed to study him for a moment. "Got a minute?"

"Sure thing." McCoy put his glass down on a convenient tray and turned to Ross. She led him toward a deserted corner of the office.

He immediately knew something was up when she turned. Ross was the best kind of dame: attractive in that womanly way that was all about confidence and smarts and a well-honed sense of irony. And full awareness of her own desires and desirability.

Her smile stretched slow and easy as her dimples deepened and her eyebrows rose. "You know what I want to ask you, right?"

"I might have an idea," McCoy admitted. What he didn't have a clue about was his reaction.

Ross laid a hand on his arm and leaned in, just that tiny bit flirtatious. "So, how about it?"

McCoy stilled, looked down at Ross's hand. _Her touch wasn't warm enough_. Didn't reach through his sleeve to tease him with the hint of heat, a promise of skin-to-skin that sparked and burned and made him arch into the contact, wanton. Wasn't matched by a searing gaze and hot mouth that sometimes teased and sometimes just took...or a tender warmth that wrapped around him in the cold quiet of space and even in the utter blankness of the universe made him feel like he was home...

He put a hand over hers. "I'm sorry." And he was. She was a damn fine woman and he thought they could have fun together. Be good together. If not for... "I had one hell of a break-up not too far back, and I'm nowhere close to putting it behind me." _Or him...Spock._

Ross took the news with a rueful grin. "Yeah, I figured there was a reason somebody as fine as you was wandering around unattached."

McCoy could feel his cheeks heating as he dropped his gaze. "Well, it's not like there's ever been a line of folks waitin' on me."

Ross's low, _sinful_ chuckle made him flush even redder. "There is now." She tilted her head toward the crowd. "Zhan let me have first crack at you."

He was shaking his head before she even finished speaking. McCoy wasn't sure he could handle a scene like this with Yao---not with Yao's lean elegance, his mix of public decorum and private mischief. It would be just a mite too familiar...and a lot more painful.

"Hey, it's OK, don't faint on me here." Ross had stepped up close to McCoy, one hand gripping his shoulder as she peered into his eyes. "You want me to let him know you're not on the market?"

"I---yeah, I---I'd appreciate that." McCoy managed a grin that his first med prof would likely have diagnosed as anemic. "Um, if it's not too much trouble?"

"Oh, don't worry. We were figuring on comforting each other over copious amounts of liquor if you shot us both down." She made a phaser sound, then whistled as both hands did a nosedive.

McCoy snorted. "Right. Don't drown your sorrows too deeply---the next group of cadets goes out at dawn tomorrow."

"Don't remind me." Ross's hand returned to his shoulder. "I'll give you fair warning: This isn't the last invitation you'll be getting, from me or Zhan."

She patted him before stepping back. "It's just that the next one will be friendly---but not _too_ friendly, OK?"

McCoy relaxed and smiled for real this time. "Now that one, I might just take you up on."

=================

Pike stepped back into his office, his gaze roaming the crowd. He'd been pulled out by his aide for a long-distance, secure comm that had completely destroyed his festive mood.

But he'd learned a long time ago how to schmooze a group out of a room. "I'm sorry, everyone, but some of us need to get back to work."

He ushered people out with smiles and thanks. Made sure the detritus of the celebration was being cleared with the usual efficiency.

When McCoy slipped past, Pike reached out and snagged him. "Hang on a moment, Doc."

The man was quick. McCoy's hazel-green eyes widened, swept over Pike and the area, then came back narrowed in suspicion. But McCoy waited until the room was emptied before he spoke. "What happened?"

"Enterprise's mission turned into an ambush. There were some pretty serious injuries, including Jim." Pike conveyed the info while keeping a careful eye on McCoy.

The doc's body had drawn up and his face set in the non-expression Pike was used to seeing on medical personnel receiving or delivering bad news.

McCoy's question came out calmly enough. "But he's gonna recover?" At Pike's nod, McCoy continued, "What about---did everyone make it?"

"No." Pike sighed, glanced at the secure padd that contained his copy of the message burst. "There were three fatalities among the crew, plus a few of the station personnel."

McCoy just nodded at that.

Pike nodded as well, glanced away for a moment to gather his thoughts before once more focusing on McCoy. "Enterprise has been relieved by another vessel and is heading back to Earth. I'll be hitching a ride on the Chaytan to personally evaluate the situation on the border."

Still no reaction from the doc. Pike soldiered on. "We're planning to rendezvous with Enterprise en route to do a quick debrief."

He rubbed a hand against the back of his neck. It failed to ease the knot that had settled there. "I'm planning on bringing along an extra doctor, in case Brie wants to transfer over to accompany me."

McCoy's eyebrows flicked up, but they settled again almost immediately.

Pike folded his arms, aware he was settling into "commander stance" but unwilling to prevent it. He wasn't used to dealing with a McCoy who did such a sterling imitation of a Vulcan. "I already have a doctor lined up to serve as temporary CMO until Enterprise returns to Earth, but if you wanted to---"

"No---no, I'm fine where I am." As soon as McCoy spoke the words he seemed to lose tension, even nodded again as if to reinforce the decision. "But I would appreciate a list of the wounded. And a heads-up when Enterprise reaches orbit."

"I can arrange for that." Pike didn't relax, exactly, but he did feel more settled now that he knew which way McCoy would jump---at least in this. "The Admiralty has allotted six weeks for the mission. But it depends on what I find when I get out there."

He paused. "I know you're still considering your options. If you reach a decision before I've returned, contact Admiral Archer. He's going to keep an eye on my section of the personnel assignments."

"Understood---and thanks." McCoy's gaze drifted a moment. When it returned, Pike could see that whatever trouble had driven the doc off Enterprise still simmered somewhere inside. McCoy swallowed once, then said, "Tell...tell everyone...I said 'Hi'."

Pike nodded, choosing not to comment on the lack of more personal messages. "Will do."

McCoy nodded one last time and turned to leave.

A few moments after McCoy departed, Pike was still gazing at the door. Then he shook himself out of useless speculations and set his mind on preparations to depart. Later, when he was aboard the Chaytan and on his way to Brie, he would allow himself to anticipate the joy of holding his lover once more and knowing she was safe and sound.


	16. Chapter 16

Jim grunted, set his jaw and kept moving. He didn't _need_ Caine's hand wrapped around his arm, but he figured there was no point in taking any chances.

"You're doing fine, Captain. Just a few more steps and you'll finally be in your own bed." Caine's dimples flashed and she gave his bicep a squeeze as they continued to walk toward Jim's quarters.

He'd finally been sprung from Sickbay and allowed to travel under his own power. Still wasn't entirely free of the corset, but at least it was more of a cummerbund now. "Not that I'm complaining, but I thought I'd be on lockdown a few more days."

Caine lifted a shoulder. "You've been very cooperative regarding your restrictions and treatment. I thought you'd appreciate some privacy and familiar surroundings for your debrief."

She lowered her brows in mock warning. "But I'd better not hear reports about any midnight shenanigans or I'll have you slapped back in a biobed faster than you can say 'medical restraints'."

Jim nodded his agreement. He was thoroughly tired of being fussed over. He missed Bones' sarcastic commentary on the idiocy of one particular Starfleet captain. He missed...he forced his attention back to Caine.

She was watching his stride as she spoke. "You've probably received the official notice, but just in case: I'll be turning your treatment---and Sickbay---over to a replacement when the Chaytan arrives."

Caine gave him a small smile. "I know this wasn't the best of circumstances, but I have appreciated my time aboard Enterprise."

"But now you're gonna move on." Jim wasn't sure why he said it. _Way to state the obvious_.

"It's an opportunity I couldn't ignore." Caine's lashes lowered, her expression shading toward embarrassed. She shrugged. "It's ridiculous---Chris and I are Starfleet officers, professionals, _adults_. But we haven't really been apart since we met..."

She met his eyes and what Jim saw in them caused a strange ache in his chest. He barely heard her murmur, "I miss him."

At that moment, they arrived at Jim's door. He shook off the weird vibe and punched in his code. "After you," he said with a flourish.

Caine gave him a _Not a chance, buddy_ look and assisted him in and over to the bunk.

Jim didn't like to admit just how grateful he was to be able to lie down again. Despite the time passed, his entire body still ached from being stretched and pounded in a not-fun way by the falling chunks of ceiling. He sighed and sank against the pillows stacked up as a backrest. "Thanks, Doc."

Caine swept a tricorder over him, nodded at the results. "If you continue to show good progress, you should be on light duty in a day or two and fully recovered by the time Enterprise reaches Earth."

She lifted her brows. "Do you need anything to help you get settled in?"

"Nah, I'm good. Maybe you could do me a favor? Please let Admiral Pike know that I'll be ready to discuss my report at his convenience." He let his lips stretch into a wicked smile. "But there's no hurry if he wants to 'discuss matters' with anyone else first."

Caine snorted. "I'll be sure to personally deliver the message." Then her expression softened. "Thanks again---and good journeys, Captain."

Jim offered a slight bow. "Same to you, Doctor."

===========

Pike lifted his eyes from his padd to regard Jim from across the desk in Jim's quarters. "I think that about covers the Rhodzel. Our intelligence indicates that Ah'shtan and his cronies were acting on their own. But we don't know if he had allies who will try again---or exactly who their contacts were in the Romulan Empire."

Jim's grim expression reflected Pike's own mood. And Pike wasn't about to improve things any. "There's something else we need to discuss."

He almost winced himself at the sudden tension in Jim's frame and the twinge of discomfort that crossed the younger man's face. "As you know, Starfleet is finally ready to launch two ships to start replacing the ones lost at Vulcan. And more will soon be on the way."

At Jim's cautious nod, Pike continued, "The majority of the crews---the command teams especially---are going to be personnel who have already logged time in space. And of course, this will cause vacancies elsewhere."

Pike held Jim's gaze. "Most of the Enterprise officers are not yet seasoned enough to be offered new posts." He paused. "The most notable exceptions are Montgomery Scott, Spock, and Doctor McCoy."

Jim had looked blank when Pike started, but by the time Pike finished speaking several expressions had come and gone almost too fast to be seen. Pike could probably put names to them if he tried, but didn't. He just raised his brows in an invitation to comment.

"Well, you'll need something a lot stronger than a tractor beam to get Scotty out of the engine room." A small smile teased at Jim's lips. "He's already explained to me---at length---how Enterprise is better than anything in the fleet, current or future."

Pike returned the smile, but then let it fade. "Spock, of course, is a candidate for captaincy. But there is a further complication: The Vulcan High Council is considering making a request that one of the new ships become a Vulcan-crewed vessel, with all Vulcan citizens currently in Starfleet being offered assignments aboard it. They have also asked that Spock alternatively consider a return to the Vulcan Science Academy."

Jim's shoulders and mouth had drawn tighter as Pike spoke. "And Bones?"

Pike sighed. "Doctor McCoy has already been offered a position at Starfleet Academy. If he decides against it, he would be welcome on almost any project in the Sciences Division, including once more joining a ship as CMO."

"Must be nice to be wanted." Jim's tone seemed a blend of sarcastic and something else. "I'm surprised the brass aren't more concerned with Enterprise's performance, considering they're willing to pull three department heads at once."

His grin didn't match the glint in his eyes. "Or the Enterprise _captain's_ performance."

"Why, because half your missions involve either Spock or McCoy---or both---needing to find a way to save your sorry ass?" It wasn't spelled out in the mission reports, but Pike knew how to read between the lines. Jim had had some spectacular successes, but a fair number of them had been near-disasters rescued only by the grit and ingenuity of the Enterprise crew.

Pike was aware that part of the reason Jim was in command of Enterprise was political---the young man was a walking photo op. But he also believed that Jim had the potential to be a great captain. Not as part of George Kirk's legacy; on his own merits.

But Jim Kirk had a ways to go to become Captain James T. Kirk.

He had to give Jim credit for chutzpah---or honesty. Jim lifted his chin, held Pike's gaze. His answer was clear and strong: "Yes."

Pike could be no less straightforward in his reply. "If you're saying you need a keeper, Jim, then you're not fit for the big chair. So take my advice and _do not_ try to work the system here."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "Look, I don't know what happened between you and McCoy. But I can guess: You hate to lose, Jim. You see a situation you don't like, you do whatever you have to---manipulate whomever you can, break whatever rules you need to---in order to make things go your way. And granted it's worked out for you in the past, with the Kobyashi Maru, with getting control of Enterprise, with Balok...but not this time."

Pike wondered if Jim had considered the risks at all, or simply assumed that he would come out on top the way Jim always seemed to. And Pike couldn't help but feel that this had been a hard lesson for Jim to learn---that McCoy's trust was a hard thing to lose. Or destroy.

After a moment of staring, Jim looked away and nodded. "So they're going to have their pick of assignments?"

"Yes. The offers will be made after the official debriefings once Enterprise reaches Earth. But Jim---" Pike waited until their eyes met again. "There's nothing to say they _must_ take new posts. They can choose to stay on Enterprise. All of them."

But Jim's wan smile suggested there was a universe of difference between _can_ and _will_.

=================

When the chime sounded at 2200, Jim knew who it was. He moved _carefully_ from the desk to the couch, then called for the computer to let Spock in.

He knew immediately that this was _not_ going to be a conversation about ship's business. First: Spock's posture was off-duty casual (for him). Second: He wasn't carrying a padd. Third and Most Important: Spock's non-expression was more non-expressive than usual. Jim had gotten pretty good at picking up even the slightest lift of eyebrow or twitch of lip. This time? Nada.

Jim watched Spock stop a precise distance from the chair opposite, then lower himself until his knees were at exact right-angles as his hands steepled in his lap. Spock appeared as perfectly pressed as usual, yet Jim could recall exactly how Spock looked naked and disheveled. He knew how Spock smelt and felt and tasted.

It was odd that now---after they'd been skin-to-skin in Jim's bunk; as Spock sat just an arm's length away---now, Spock seemed more distant than ever.

Like fucking Spock had somehow turned him into a stranger.

They sat staring at each other for a few moments. Then Spock straightened his shoulders that millimeter more and opened his mouth.

In that instant, Jim knew he didn't want to hear whatever logical speech Spock had planned. "So, you wanna explain to me how I went from Significant Other to Persona Non Grata?"

Spock's mouth closed as his eyebrows drew together in a frown. After some time spent in contemplation, he answered, "No."

"No?" _That_ threw him. He bought some time by slouching farther down into the couch, hissing as his knitting ribs protested. "Why the hell not?"

"Because I do not completely understand the chain of events myself." Spock's gaze drifted as his fingertips parted and returned. "I have found myself...most confused."

"Well you're gonna have to give me something, here." Jim shook his head. "Because I don't have a single fucking clue what's going on."

He spread his hands. "Spock, you said you wanted to be with me. You told Bones that---you---you _chose_ me. But since then you've been about as cold and distant as Delta Vega. Why?"

Jim conveniently forgot to mention his own lack of interest in their "relationship". Partly because, like Spock, he didn't have the slightest idea what was going on inside his own head. Or anywhere farther south. He kind of wondered what would happen if Spock _did_ make a move. But he also worried about his own reaction to it (or lack thereof).

Spock's eyes finally settled on Jim's, and they were filled with so much more than confusion. "I was wrong."

Even though Jim had known they might be coming---knew it the way he could figure poker games and bar brawls and space battles, all the possible moves mapped out in his mind in advance---the words landed hard.

He swallowed and gestured for Spock to keep going.

Spock looked down at his hands. "When I first became aware of...my counterpart, he informed me that you and I are 'opposing yet complementary opposites'---that we needed each other. He spoke of the balance between us, and how I should not have to face this altered future alone."

He paused. "There was no mention of Leonard."

Jim looked away at that, kept his focus on the wall until Spock started speaking again. "All of my life---on Vulcan, on Earth, in space---I have been aware of what I am _not_. Not Vulcan, not human. Of the fact that I have truly belonged...nowhere."

Spock didn't sigh, but the way he slumped the slightest fraction in his seat was just as telling. "The concept of...completion...of acceptance...I came to associate with you, Jim. It did not seem to matter that I was with Nyota, then with Leonard. However illogical, the _idea_ of what you must mean to me, be for me, persisted. But given your proclivities and stated opinions regarding personal relationships, it seemed that my interest in you would forever remain...academic."

"Until that night." Jim shifted in discomfort, didn't bother identifying the cause.

Spock confirmed with a single, slow nod. "When you indicated that you wished to form a bond with both Leonard and myself, I believed it was not only a logical suggestion, but also an ideal solution."

He leaned forward slightly, his hands lifting as if to frame an equation in the air. "I would not be required to abandon a relationship I valued to gain a companion I had long desired. I believed that Leonard would also find the blending of friendship and more intimate concerns to be an obvious and natural progression."

Spock seemed to shrink into his chair. "But that did not prove to be the case."

"Spock, that night...I'd heard that new ships were coming." Jim could feel the words tumbling out too fast, goaded by everything that had happened. "I figured that my time was running out---if I didn't act _then_ , didn't say something, didn't _try_... I didn't want to lose you, lose Bones. And I thought---I thought we would be good together, all three of us."

Jim could leave it there. It sounded OK, made sense. It _worked_ and would ensure that he kept at least one of his friends.

But somehow that wasn't enough anymore. "Except for one thing: I knew Bones wasn't interested in me, that way. Never has been."

And some weight slid off Jim's chest at the admission. He recognized that here, now---between him and Spock at least---every tawdry bit of it had been stripped naked and dragged out into the cold glare of honesty.

Whatever they managed to salvage would be real. He braced himself for Spock's verdict---for judgment.

"Your actions were...if not justifiable, then to some degree understandable. And it was I who accepted your overtures before consulting Leonard. I who selected you, when a choice between Leonard and you became necessary. But since that time, I have come to realize..." Spock reached out, laid a hand on Jim's knee.

Jim could feel the weight and heat of the touch and tried not to flinch under it. He waited for Spock to speak---not breathing, not blinking. Not thinking or feeling. Just waiting.

"I have been, and believe I will continue to be, your friend." Spock sat back, chin lifted, shoulders straight. "But Jim, your friend is all I can be. Because of Leonard. I...I miss him."

Jim had heard those same words, not too long ago. From someone else speaking of her lover, her love. He also recognized the look in Spock's eyes---it was the same look Caine had when she talked about Pike. To the nth degree.

And he knew that whatever he'd been hoping for from Spock during that fateful game of chess, he was never going to get it.

Part of Jim wanted to squeeze a promise out of Spock: Not to accept the promotion to captain. Not to take command of a ship of his own. Not to go to New Vulcan or return to Starfleet Academy. Not to leave. But the greater part of him was still caught in a whirl of _OK, so far, so good. But what happens now? What's next?_

He didn't notice Spock rise to exit. He just heard the soft sound of the door opening and closing.

After a while, something began to shiver beneath Jim's skin. A building urge, a need to stand/pace/scream/fuck/fight/die/escape. It made his skin prickle and sweat, his breathing quicken and his muscles twitch. It may have been unwelcome---but it was damn familiar.

Jim wanted to _do_ something. Wrong or right, good or bad, _anything_ had to be better than leaving his future to chance.

But all Jim could do was clench his fists. Sit alone in the quiet and wonder what would happen. And what the fuck it had all been for.

=================

_Spock watched as the ground behind Leonard began to fall away. He lunged forward, finally free to move, to act. Reached out for Leonard, found purchase on broad shoulders._

_But Leonard did not respond. Made no move to scramble away from the edge---save himself. He simply looked at Spock,_ through _Spock._

_When Spock felt the shift of rock that heralded the end, he seized Leonard's wrists and hands. But it made no difference---Spock's strength was irrelevant. He was pulled to his knees by Leonard's weight, then to his belly against the sun-seared stone._

_And still Leonard slipped from his hold, millimeter by millimeter. Not flailing, not fighting. As silent as the already-dead. And his gaze never left Spock's face as he fell..._

_Spock did not move. His hands dangled empty over the abyss as all the world stopped. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead into the dust._

_He felt a touch on the middle of his back. A voice above him mused, "Dreams are curious things; I've always thought so."_

As Spock lifted himself to sitting he knew that he still dreamed.

There was no other way his mother could kneel beside him under Vulcan skies, regarding him with the slightest of smiles. She tilted her head. "Don't you agree, Spock?"

He reached out, touched her shoulder, her arm. Careful to avoid skin---unwilling to destroy the illusion.

"I do not understand, Mother. It has made no difference." He glanced briefly at the edge, turned away from it. "I believed that it was Jim preventing me from saving Leonard. But even now, when I am unencumbered, I still fail. No matter what I do, Leonard is lost to me. I cannot stop it."

Her chuckle held a chiding affection. "Leonard is already gone, Spock. Your subconscious is hardly going to let you pretend otherwise."

But she sobered as she gestured at the cliff. "It's done. You have to figure out what you're going to do about it."

"There is nothing _to_ do." Spock found the words difficult to shape. "It would be illogical to expect Leonard to continue involvement with someone who betrayed his trust so completely."

She snorted. "From what I understand, 'logic' is the last word Leonard would apply to relationships."

His mother shifted to face him fully. "Do you know when I realized I was going to marry your father and live out my life here, on a planet that wasn't mine and among a people I would never truly understand?"

Spock could only lift his brows in something much more than curiosity.

"It was the day I learned a new word: _ha-kel_...home. I felt it here." She pressed her palm upon his chest---though the familiar twinkle in her eyes reminded Spock that she was fully aware that this was not the place a Vulcan heart resided. "And I knew that this was where I belonged. With Sarek, and later with you."

Her gentle hand under his elbow drew Spock to his feet. He let his fingers close about her arms. "And did you ever come to regret that choice?"

"Have you _met_ your father?" She grinned at him, but then her expression softened. "You sound as if I'd only made that decision once and forever, Spock. But every day of living is change."

She shrugged. "And change is all about choices---and consequences. Best you can do is decide what you're willing to live with, and what you can't live without."

Spock stepped close to run his fingertips along the edge of his mother's hair. He clasped her shoulders and drew her to him for a hug. As he wrapped his arms around her---so fragile---he whispered, "Thank you."

Then he released her, turned, and leapt off the cliff.


	17. Chapter 17

Spock stood before Leonard's quarters on the Academy grounds. He vibrated in place, though he could not confirm the sensation was actuality or mere impression. A nearly-unbearable 46 seconds passed before the door slid open in response to his chime.

He felt a jolt through his body at his first look at Leonard since Enterprise---and the dream. He suppressed the urge to stride forward and seize Leonard in his arms. The swirl of emotions threatened to overwhelm his fast-dissolving Vulcan calm. Spock forced himself to concentrate on the external, on Leonard's face.

Leonard's eyes had widened 1.7 millimeters and his jaw dropped a full 4 centimeters as he stood staring at Spock. His face paled, though Spock did not call to mind an appropriate scale of reference.

Spock attempted to steady his breathing. "May I enter?"

The room held the standard furnishings along with several packing containers. Few personal items adorned the space---mainly plants, padds, and books. Spock stood in the center of the seating area, watching Leonard move with some agitation to lean against a wall.

The crossed arms and scowl were to be expected. These signs of animation---however hostile---were preferable to the frozen image conjured by Spock's subconscious. Perhaps the insight gained had altered Spock's perceptions, but the sight of Leonard---the knowledge that they were in the same room, on the same planet---filled Spock with both relief and anticipation.

Even Leonard's wary gaze and tone were welcome as he growled, "Enterprise isn't here yet."

"You are correct." _And remarkably well-informed._ Spock clasped his hands behind his back to hide their trembling. "I turned the bridge over to Mister Scott and appropriated a shuttle."

Leonard blinked, eyebrows lifting. His arms started to loosen, but then he seemed to catch himself and resumed his belligerent posture. "So to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Spock drew himself up to announce, "I have terminated my liaison with Jim."

"What? Trouble in paradise already?" Leonard drawled. But the emotions that flickered in his eyes revealed far more than he in all likelihood wanted Spock to perceive.

It bolstered Spock's own confidence. However unorthodox the method of delivery, it seemed the surmises revealed via his dreams were correct. He accepted these truths, acknowledged and embraced them in a way that previously he had never been willing to imagine.

Spock had never been this open before, with anyone. Not even with Leonard, all those days and nights. He'd shielded part of himself, kept himself separate even when they were together. But now he was ready to...to commit with all of his being. "Not in the manner you imply. I determined that such association with Jim was not viable. Nor feasible, as you consider monogamy a necessary part of an intimate relationship."

Leonard ceased all movement. He refrained from both blinking and breathing. Then he shook his head slowly from side to side. "Back in the day, after the divorce went through, I spent some time imaginin' what it would be like if Jocelyn changed her mind. Wondered how I'd feel, what I'd do if she tucked her tail between her legs and came back to me."

He spread his hands. "But this...I have no idea what to do with this. It never occurred to me you'd give up Jim---not after wantin' him so much for so long."

The assurance within Spock shaded slightly toward apprehension. He had expected a more enthusiastic response. "I came to find that having is not...is not so pleasing a thing as wanting. At least when the comparison is between having Jim and having you. This is not logical, but it is true."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Leonard said nothing else.

Spock frowned. It would appear a more definitive assessment of the situation was in order. "It was unfortunate that Jim misled me regarding the...possibilities of interaction between him and ourselves. More so that I neglected to consult with you prior to embarking upon a course of action that you so profoundly rejected. And I deeply regret that I was so long unaware of the nature and strength of my own regard for you."

Words were inadequate to the emotions within him. They always were. They could not convey his love, need, desire. How these emotions buffeted his logic and control as the winds of Vulcan carved away the rocks, turned them into sand and dust one grain at a time.

Spock could not speak what he truly felt---it was not his nature. But he reached out. "As we have now established the parameters of our relationship, it would be logical to begin the process to resume our involvement and to explore the newfound accord between us."

"No." Leonard raised his own palms, as if warding off Spock's touch despite the space between them. "No, I won't do this again. I thought we were together. I thought we'd built something between us. Thought it was enough---that _I_ was enough. But I was wrong."

His arms lowered as he tilted his head. "And you'd think that this would make things right, somehow. Like we could pick up or put back or reset things just the way they were. The way _we_ were. Because it was that good."

Leonard looked Spock up and down, with an enigmatic expression that made his face a stranger's. But emotion was strong in Leonard's voice. "If I knew this was my final day of livin', I'd wrap myself around you and never let go until my last breath was gone."

His lips curved then, but the smile radiated a near-palpable sorrow. "But I have to figure on a lifetime. So no. There is no 'we' or 'us'. Not anymore. Not again. I love you, Spock, but I don't _need_ you. And the sad fact is I can't trust you worth a damn."

Spock's mind seemed to...stop. He could only watch his hands curl in to crawl along his own arms. He stared at them, at the flick of finger and slide of wrist. At the scrabble of cloth and skin under short nails. Unable to meet Leonard's eyes again. Unable to see the determination there. The finality.

In his sleep, Spock had leapt off the cliff and awakened to a plan of action. A realization so precious, a hope so hallowed he dared not name them. But now they shattered, and he broke along with them.

He was falling to his knees, plunging into an abyss greater than the one that had claimed Vulcan. It was born of his own mind---despair deeper than he had ever experienced. Multitudes and magnitudes beyond his sorrow upon recognizing "Fire Dance" written upon the scroll in Leonard's hand. Thoughts, emotions, dreams, plans seemed rent from the core of Spock's being as he admitted that _now_ , only now, was he truly lost.

For the dream had been wrong. In this true and living nightmare it was Leonard who stood strong and sure, while Spock felt the world crumble beneath his feet as he catapulted alone into the dark, down, down, down...

Spock could hear his own voice but somehow it was not his lips or breath or body. He was only the words, the words that tore into the parts of him that Leonard had claimed unknowing...the parts that made Spock whole.

The words---Vulcan and human---spilled out of him. " _Ni'droi'ik nar-tor._ I am sorry. _Ni'droi'ik nar-tor._ I am sorry. _Du ha-kel t'nash-veh._ You are my home. _Vesht dungi ki'gla-tor nash-veh._ I should have seen. _Etwel vashal nash-veh, ha-kel t'nash-veh._ I destroyed us, my home. _Nash-veh vashal nash-veh._ I destroyed myself."

==============

McCoy wasn't even aware he'd moved. One second he was standing near the wall telling Spock to take a hike---the next he was in the center of the room on his knees capturing Spock's clawing hands in his own shaking ones.

He pressed Spock's palms against his own chest and leaned in. Wrapped his arms around Spock and sank his fingers into Spock's hair. Started to rock them both as he stroked through silky strands that he'd never thought to touch again.

Ignored the words that still gushed from Spock's mouth in a loop of murmurs and choked breaths. Just kept whispering into a pointed ear, "Hush now, hush now. It'll be all right. Just breathe, darlin'. Just breathe. I've got you."

If it had been anyone else in the universe, McCoy would be kicking himself right now for being the biggest idiot to ever be conned by crocodile tears. But he knew Spock well enough to be certain that for this moment all the walls were down. This was bare and honest and _real_.

It seemed that somehow in breaking McCoy's heart, Spock had ripped out a part of his own soul. McCoy could sense it the way he used to get flashes of Spock sometimes. Just hints, when they were skin-on-skin.

Knowing that Spock was suffering didn't make McCoy feel one bit _better_ \---Lord knew he wouldn't wish this kind of pain on anybody. But it brought him to a place of rest. Something in that ragged pit in his own core settled. The landscape shifted or tilted or filled enough so that he could find solid ground again. In himself.

McCoy kept rocking even after Spock went silent and collapsed against him. And he wished there was some magic miracle that would let everything he still felt for Spock trickle out and spill over. Bring them back together to how they used to be.

But they couldn't ever go back to the way it was. McCoy wouldn't. Not when he'd have to wonder every moment whether Spock was thinking about---wanting---someone else.

He figured maybe Spock had dropped off to sleep. But after a while Spock stirred in his embrace. McCoy didn't like to admit how reluctant he was to let go.

Spock settled back on his heels. His hair was impossibly mussed, his eyelids greener than usual and his eyes held the sheen of tears that hadn't made their way down Spock's splotched cheeks. He looked about as undone as a Vulcan would never be.

McCoy couldn't help a surge of affection as he brought a hand up to Spock's jaw, his palm savoring the remembered warmth as his thumb brushed the damp patch under one eye. "You OK?"

"No, I am not. And I cannot say when I will be." Spock captured the hand resting against his face. Held it there.

"Leonard, I understand that I have hurt you deeply---even more deeply than I have damaged myself in casting you aside. But you do love me...and I now realize that I return that feeling in full measure." His dark eyes seemed to want to seek out McCoy's soul, so intense was the stare.

"But I've already said it, Spock: Love's nothing without trust." And now McCoy ached for them both, for once more having to admit the wonder of what they might have had. What they'd both lost.

Spock's gaze never wavered. "I am willing to work and wait to earn the privilege of your trust. Although I may never regain that intrinsic faith you once had in me, I would...I ask that you permit me to make the attempt."

Spock took a deep breath, released it. "Until then...Leonard, there would be no lies, mind to mind."

McCoy could feel the blank surprise sliding across his face. "You wanna meld with me?"

"If and when you would allow it." Spock released McCoy then, let his own hands fall into his lap. "Whenever and however often you would need to be sure of me, to confirm my commitment to you."

"I don't get it, Spock." McCoy stifled a groan as he finally obeyed the complaints of his sore knees and plopped down cross-legged. "You never wanted anybody sharin' your head that way before. And I have to confess I don't like the notion of you needin' to split your brain open that way just 'cause I wanna know that I _am_ who you really want."

Spock's expression eased, his eyes warming. "Your concern is gratifying. But it would be much more than an 'insurance policy', I assure you. And we would proceed slowly, to build the awareness of each other gradually. But at the deepest level, it would be...essential. Everything I am, have been, will be. Just as I would receive the gift of yourself in return."

His shrug was a graceful rise of one shoulder. "It is a connection I have never truly shared with anyone. But I no longer wish to hide from you. Or myself."

McCoy chewed the inside of his cheek. Funny how this time around _he_ was the one shying away from the whole idea. "I don't know, Spock. That offer---it changes things, yeah. But I'm not convinced it'd be fair to make you deal with all the crap in my head."

And there was a hell of a lot of it, and it wasn't one bit pretty or polite. "Because I can't say that it'll be worth it---that after we go through all the thunder and lightning, we'll be together. Not for sure."

"I accept the risk. It has been clear to me for some time that yours is not what one would call a genteel personality. Or your mind a simple one." Spock's small smile curved and faded. "But understand, Leonard, whatever you choose: For me---there will never be another."

McCoy reached out and clapped his palm over Spock's mouth. Wished he'd been faster at it. "Damn it, Spock, don't say that. Don't even _think_ it. 'Cause I sure as hell don't wanna hear it."

His breath huffed out irritation. _Damned overdramatic hobgoblin_.

But he couldn't resist shifting his hand so his fingertips traced the line of Spock's lips. "Look, I don't wanna think of forever. Or a hundredsome years from now when I'll be dead and buried and you're still kickin' around the universe, or even next week. If---if we do this, if we _try_...just promise me that if it's ever not just you and me, you'll tell me _first_. That, I think maybe I can live with."


	18. Chapter 18

McCoy left his quarters and the building to give Spock a chance to meditate without being hovered over. He'd let Spock win the argument against a visit to Starfleet Medical, but Spock was expected to---in order and without any deviation---meditate, eat soup, drink tea, clean up, and _rest_.

Spock also had strict orders not to go back to Enterprise, since McCoy had decided to make some new travel arrangements. It'd taken a bit of finagling to get everything set, but the next few days they would be on leave in Georgia.

So strange to think that they were following a variation of McCoy's original plan, but to begin a different kind of relationship. As very different men. Strange...but right.

McCoy decided to take a stroll around the grounds, give a chance for this latest shift in his life to settle some in his own mind.

Jim ambushed him not a dozen steps down the sidewalk. The damned fool had actually been _skulking_ behind a tree.

McCoy frowned but didn't otherwise acknowledge Jim. Instead he set off across the grass, toward an out-of-the-way bench across the lawns in the center of a dense grouping of trees. He'd found it early on in his stay, and figured that the privacy was a definite requirement for any kind of "discussion".

The doctor part of his brain automatically catalogued the signs of fatigue and recent injury. Jim was moving gingerly, likely protecting new-healed wounds. But he looked well enough---not that McCoy expected any different with Brie in charge of Sickbay most of the trip.

When McCoy reached the clearing, he stopped and turned. Folded his arms across his chest and couldn't help notice how closely this resembled the earlier confrontation. He didn't say anything.

Jim eased down into a seat, one elbow propped on the wrought-iron armrest. "So, Bones..."

McCoy raised his brows but kept his mouth shut.

That didn't seem to faze Jim any. He tried on his usual grin. "I've been debating assigning Chekov a little side project in time-travel. Thought maybe we could spin a wheel or something and get things back to normal."

An expletive sputtered through McCoy's thoughts as he bristled. "You can keep your hare-brained schemes and your goddamned wiz kids and _yourself_ the hell away from me. I for one do _not_ want to live these weeks ever again." He'd actually managed to get through it, could see himself coming out the other side. And that was worth something.

Jim's smile dropped. "Yeah, why should you? Especially when it seems you're doing just fine and you've already pushed the reset button for _some people_." 

He stood up from his seat. "I made it down to the bay to discover Spock had already signed himself out a shuttle and skipped back to Earth."

An arm waved toward the building. "I got here in time to see him stroll on in. Noticed he hasn't come back out yet. Why is that, Bones? He must've had one hell of a sob story to get you to take him back so fast."

"Oh, I dunno, Jim. Spock would say ignorance is no excuse, but how about _being lied to_?" McCoy could feel himself start to flush. He didn't know what the hell Jim was trying to pull, but he wasn't in any sort of mood. Not after the go-round with Spock.

Jim tilted his head. "You know what, you're right. And this is crazy. I didn't come here to do this."

He started pacing back and forth in front of the bench. "I mean, I'm supposed to be _happy_ for you and Spock being all cozy again but _what the fuck_ , Bones?"

His hands waved like he was sketching his rant in the air. "It's just, I'm here all ready to do the _mea culpa_ \---explain why it went down the way it did---and the thirty lashes or the hot coals or hair shirt or whatever to make things up to you. And it's not like Spock wasn't in it just as hot and heavy and _guilty_ as I was. But it looks like after all your high-and-mighty you're just some kinda hypocrite. You _left_ because you didn't want to be on the same ship with us but now you have Spock in the same room--- _your_ room---and if you're taking Spock back like nothing happened then why the hell are you being such a hard-ass to me and it _pisses me off_."

Jim stopped to glare as he finished. "Way to be a _friend_ , Bones."

This was an old and familiar ploy of Jim's. Push and push until he could get somebody to blow or take a shot at him---fist or phaser. So that the pressure was released and Jim wouldn't have to wait for somebody else to decide his fate.

McCoy _knew_ it came out of Jim's soul-deep need for control. He'd seen it played out too many times on too many worlds. But that didn't seem to matter.

He could feel his fists curling. He barely managed to keep them at his sides. Couldn't help the shouting, though. "You _shit on my life_ , Jim! What the hell was I supposed to do---smile and ignore the mess?"

"You were supposed to give me another chance!" Jim seemed to surge taller at that, like conviction boosted him up somehow. "That's what friends _do_ , Bones. You're my _best friend_ : You're supposed to give me another chance."

"No matter what? No matter what you do or what lines you cross?" McCoy wanted to laugh, but instead he sagged against the nearest tree and ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know when you started confusing friend with lunatic or saint, Jim, but I'm not either."

He sighed and looked up through the leaves, talking to himself as much as anything. "You know what's the worst part? That no matter how things went down---even if you got your way---I was gonna be hurt by this. In the long run or short, but for certain. And you _knew_ that...you knew it but when you saw your shot, you took it anyway."

His eyes sought Jim's. "That's the part I can't get over, Jim. Truth to tell, I'm not sure I want to."

Jim seemed to have shrunk back down to normal---he kind of fell onto the armrest of the bench. "I get what you're saying. But make me understand this, Bones: What's so different between Spock and me? Why does he get back in while I'm left hanging out here all alone?"

McCoy stilled at that. That answer was _the_ answer. To a lot of things. "Spock did the one thing you never can: He owned it."

He nodded to himself. "Spock found a way to let me believe him until I'm ready to trust him again. He said he was sorry---and meant it."

Jim's mouth opened, but this time McCoy was quicker as he raised a hand. "Don't, Jim. Not if you don't intend it truly and fully. Because I'm sure you're sorry you didn't get what you wanted. You're sorry about the way things went down---hell, nobody in his right mind would have wanted that disaster."

McCoy let his hand fall. "But can you honestly tell me you're sorry you tried?"

Jim stared, silent. The answer was a long time coming. "No. Even with all that's happened...no. I wouldn't have been able to live with the maybes."

He looked away a moment. When Jim turned back, something in his expression was different, decided. "Bones, I know it can't ever be the same--- _we_ aren't the same. But I see where the line is now...I won't cross it again, I swear. I understand, though, that you have no reason to believe that. To trust me."

His fingers twitched like he wanted to reach out and grab. "But you have to come back to Enterprise anyway---you have to bring Spock back. Not because you trust me, but because I need someone that _I_ can trust. And that's Spock...and you. Always you."

He swallowed, one last word coming out in a whisper. "Please."

McCoy figured this was as close to apology as Jim would ever get. He wasn't sure that it would be enough. But he couldn't let the moment pass unacknowledged. "I don't know, Jim. I just don't know. Spock and I---well, we've got a hell of a lot to hash out between us. And I've got to think about what it would mean to go back up there---with Spock and with you."

Jim certainly didn't jump for joy at the news. But to his credit, he only tightened up his jaw and gave a single nod.

McCoy sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck. Considered the nature of friends and friendship. "Listen, my cousin is throwing a shindig next week at the old family homestead to meet my near and dear. I guess...I'd like to see you there."

Jim didn't smirk or grin. But he lifted his head and something in his eyes cleared. "Then that's where I'll be."

McCoy nodded and turned away. Took a deep breath, held it, released. Then stepped out from the trees and lifted his face to the sun.

==============

Many hours and kilometers later, McCoy sat on the porch steps of the inn he'd visited when he first came back to Earth. Starlight gleamed on an empty glass with two straws that was set off to the side. He leaned back into the warmth of Spock wrapped around him like a blanket.

They were naked in a way that their bodies weren't ready to be, not yet. But this first step, this first touch of minds...the slow drift of thought to thought, feeling to feeling, reminded McCoy of lazy summer afternoons in the hammock.

Spock's voice was only a little louder than the crickets. "When you were gone...so many times, Leonard, I dreamed of losing you."

McCoy rubbed his cheek against Spock's and sighed. "You still could, Spock. Lord knows it's not what I'd want, but I can't---all I can promise is to try."

As Spock blinked, his eyelashes brushed McCoy's temple in a strangely intimate caress. "That is enough, _ashayam_. That is everything."

McCoy let himself relax into the embrace, nestling closer. Let the peace of the night seep into him.

Spock's whisper echoed in his mind, words that McCoy knew by heart. "I stand before the sun, my arms raised in welcome..."

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who came along with McCoy, Spock, Kirk, and the others on this journey. I really appreciated learning your reactions to the story!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are welcomed with great joy and constructive criticism is treasured as a rare gift.


End file.
